


Linksfield

by unwillingadventurer



Category: Original Work
Genre: 1920s, Friendship, Historical, Master & Servant, Mystery, Original Character(s), Original Fiction, Secrets
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-29
Updated: 2021-02-08
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:09:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 66,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27261772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unwillingadventurer/pseuds/unwillingadventurer
Summary: Jack Boys’ life is changed when he starts work as a manservant for the mysterious recluse Clement Montgomery.
Comments: 11
Kudos: 7





	1. Arrival

**Author's Note:**

> Also posted on wattpad.

Linksfield House felt a daunting place-- mysterious and quiet, slightly decayed with fragmented stone angels looking down upon me from two plinths high above. Their faces, what remained anyway, seemed as sad as the house itself. As I stood at the large black front door and glanced upward, I saw a curtain twitch and a figure move behind the glass and I was suddenly overcome with nerves as though I was about to enter into a situation like no other. 

Before I knocked, I took a deep breath and let the air find my lungs, allowing myself to take it in before I would head into the house of my new employment and find out who had been upstairs, watching me from above. I had done this routine many times before and every time was the same— that sense of uncertainty, that fluttering of nerves in the stomach, the sweating palms trying to grip the handle of my suitcase. I was so caught up in my wandering thoughts I hardly noticed another servant open the door. I was in a daze and hadn’t even realised that I was standing at the wrong entrance. It was as though I had been led there, hypnotised by the house. 

“You the new man servant?” the young man whispered. “Here, you’re at the wrong door, mate.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t notice the other entrance.”

He patted me on the shoulder. “Now’s you’re here, mate, sure I can let you in this way, come inside.”

The long narrow hallway from the door led me to the staircase where I stood curiously at the bottom. I placed my suitcase down onto the ground and ran my hand carefully along the shiny oak bannister. I heard a cough and so I looked up— and there he stood— several flights above me, looking down upon me—the master of the house, and I his new manservant, standing below him. He must have been the man at the window.

“Is that you, my new servant?” he called. His voice was softer than I had anticipated but there was a gruffness in it and an impatience in his tone. “Bring your case with you, man.”

I nodded and made my way up the staircase, slowly, one step at a time, carrying my own heavy bag, feeling as if I was making my way further inside a house I would never leave. This was to be my home, my place of employment…a prison even. I was in my last position for ten years and I only escaped that place when the old fool died. I only ever saw the sunlight on my half-day or when the master had needed an errand to be made. How long would my time last in this new establishment? How I longed for a home of my own and a life that was truly mine.

By the time I reached the master—Clement Montgomery—he was half in shadow, clinging onto a doorframe as though he had not seen the daylight in days. He was a relatively young fellow in his thirties and had a boyish something about him. Considering his age however, he was unsteady on his feet, more like an old man. He swayed on the spot and seemed as twitchy as the curtains. Observing him, I concluded the stupid devil was drunk and had probably been out late at some gambling club, clearly having not bothered to shave in days.

“Well come along,” he said sharply.

“Where shall I put my things, Sir?”

I didn’t have many possessions but what little I did have meant very much to me.

“With yourself I should expect.”

“And where do I put myself?”

His eyebrow rose at my impertinence. “You’re in the attic room.”

I hesitated. “Away from the other servants?” 

My allies, my friends, how could I be parted from those people?

“Closer to me.” He sniffed. “I may need to call upon you at any time of day.” He looked me up and down then, it was rather unnerving. “So, it’s Boys, is it?”

“Yes, Jonathan Boys, but people generally call me Jack.”

“People?”

I smirked. “I do know some, Sir. Good friends in fact.”

He smiled for the briefest of seconds. “I will be addressed as Sir.”

“As you wish.” He’d clearly been ignoring the several times I’d already called him so. I sighed. My arms were aching from carrying the suitcase from the station and then up the stairs. “Sir, may I have permission to put down my bag?”

“You may take it to your room and once you’re settled, I’d like to see you in my study.”

“Your study?”

He gave me an exasperated sigh as though I ought to know everything already by some kind of divine power.

“Go downstairs, find young Doris to show you around and then join me in the study.”

I clenched my teeth. “Very well, Sir.”

Two bags full Sir, anything else Sir? I left his side and resumed my task of seeing to my room and making the long trip down to my own people who lived and breathed below stairs.

...

The Servants Hall was like any other I’d seen over the years—simple and plain with more personality in its people than its décor. Around the wooden kitchen table, the few servants were ready for a brief lunch and so I crept in slowly, not keen to disturb them.

“Only me everyone, the new servant, don’t get up,” I said, pulling out a chair.

The cook, Mrs. Orwell—an unusually slim women for a cook—with scraggily grey hair, pulled me down onto the chair and practically force-fed me sandwiches whilst in turn the other servants introduced themselves. There was Mary the ladies’ maid to Clement’s mother, known as Boyle to the employers. There was Frank, the young footman who’d answered the door and who always had his head in a book. He was far too academic and bright for this work but fortune had seen fit to place him in lower society where his talents were wasted. Finally, there was Doris. She was lovely. A clever and kind young lady, always helpful and ready to lend a hand. All in all, it was a small household, a cheerful bunch of people, and I knew that this is what would keep me going for the many days, weeks, months or years I found myself at Linksfield.

“What’s he like?” I finally said as I gulped down a refreshing cup of strong black tea. 

“Who?” Mary said, nibbling a piece of toast like a mouse. “Oh, you mean the Master? Keeps himself to himself mostly. He has these moods, you see. His mother, she’s the outgoing one. She’ll be at a party, he won’t. He’s not as easy an egg to crack. One of those mysterious types. You’ve got your work cut out for you and no mistake.”

“What happened to the last fellow?”

They all glanced at one another and there was sudden quiet as if a witch had cast a spell across the entire household, forcing them into silence. They stayed still for several moments.

“What is it?” I asked. 

I was dying to know. I’d known every bit of gossip at my last place. I’d always felt it was a servant’s right to know every piece of information about his employers, that way if I had to, I could use it against them. Only if I had to mind, I took no satisfaction from blackmail.

“They say he went to Ireland to see his sister,” Doris said, whispering. She glanced behind her toward the kitchen door.

“Say?”

“No one never saw him leave.”

There was little way to reply to such a mysterious statement except with a laugh. I leaned forward and let out a smile. “And you think the Master murdered him?”

“Ignore Doris,” Mrs. Orwell began as she began clearing away the cups, “wild imagination, head full of stories. I blame Frank for lending her all those books.”

“I’ll watch my back, though, eh, just to be sure?” I laughed again. “Speaking of which, I better hurry, the murderer will be waiting for me in the study.”

“I see we’re going to have trouble with you, Mr. Boys!” Mrs. Orwell added.

“I’ll show you up there,” Doris said, getting up from the table and leading the way upstairs. 

The stairs from the servants’ quarters were not of the variety of the grand carpeted ones in the upper house. These steps were old and creaking, rickety and broken. And the hallway itself was gloomy and dark, like the dressing rooms below a stage in a theatre. We climbed up them ready for our own performance, to mask ourselves and play the roles we were forced into, rather than the true selves we were down below. And then our little faces would emerge, like tired moles from dirty tunnels, into the main part of the house whenever that little bell rung and we found ourselves answering our routinely call.

“It’s that big room on the right. Just knock and he’ll ask you in,” Doris said as we emerged from the heavy swinging door to the servants’ quarters and into the wide hallway.

“Thank you. Well, wish me luck.”

“Good luck, Mr. Boys.”

“It’s Jack. Call me Jack.”

“I couldn’t possibly, Mr. Boys.” 

And she ran downstairs, not looking back and leaving me standing at the large wooden door, ready for my entrance, ready to play the part. I took a deep breath and knocked three times. At first there was a chilly silence and then finally I heard:

“Please enter.”

When I moved into the room it was surprisingly dark, the way downstairs had appeared moments earlier. The deep crimson curtains were drawn despite it only being early afternoon and the Master was sat on a leather chair by the fire, drinking a brandy which he held tightly in his pale hands. I stood beside him.

“You wanted to see me, Sir?”

“Oh yes, yes.” He motioned for me to take a seat opposite. “Well go on then, sit down!” he added.

I quickly did as he commanded but oh how I hated being barked orders at like some kind of golden retriever. I may have had fair hair but that didn’t make me some sort of obedient puppy.

“You’re rather young, Boys,” he said, glancing me over. “How old are you exactly?”

“Thirty-six, Sir.”

“Goodness how strange! I’m also thirty-six. I only mention it because I’m used to much older men serving me.”

“And I am used to serving much older men.”

“You look younger than thirty-six, even.”

“As do you, Sir. Perhaps there is a painting in both of our attics.” 

“Did I say you could make a joke?” he suddenly said, his temper rising.

“No.” I lowered my head.

This was a difficult task. His moods seemed to change like day and night and it appeared it was not easy to impress him. True, being a servant meant you were not allowed to have an opinion of your own but if I was to remain by his side all hours of the day, we would need to get along in some capacity.

“Shall I open the curtains, Sir?”

“No!” he shouted as though he were a vampire and would turn to dust should even a slither of light fall upon him.

I looked at him then. Despite the youthful appearance he had purple under-eye circles and cracked lips. I wondered whether he ever went outside. I shook myself off from this observation. Why was I worrying about him? He had more than I ever dreamed of and I doubted he could ever worry about me. They were usually selfish people.

“Is there anything you’d like me to do first, Sir?” I asked.

“Just stay sitting for a while, there’s no rush. I like to get used to my new man-servant. It’s a rather peculiar intimacy that one rarely gets used to and I feel I should know a little about you. You are both my valet and my butler after all.”

“Not much to know about me, Sir.”

“Are you married?”

“Men like me are rarely married.”

“Then that means no children.” He suddenly laughed out loud. “Not unless you’ve been an old scally-wag, eh Boys?”

I smiled. “Boys will be boys you mean?”

“Ha! Yes. Quite. As you will already be aware, I too am unmarried. A bachelor they call it. I’m not sure whether I’m a willing bachelor or an unwilling one but nonetheless I am one, despite my mother’s protestations, stupid old hag.”

“You don’t…” I spoke carefully, worried to offend, “…get along?”

“Love her dearly, dislike her even more. That’s families for you.”

“I wouldn’t know, Sir.”

“You don’t have family?”

“Oh, I do have a family but rather I’m fond of them though of course it’s a rarity to see them. My parents died a while ago but I have a sister, and some brothers abroad, and nephews and nieces too.”

“I have nephews and nieces also! I have a sister Rosamund and she has a whole brood of children. Five or six, can’t quite recall.”

How much we had in common but at the same time so little.

The Master took another sip of his brandy. “You’ll probably meet old Rosie at some stage. She’s always here. We get along to some degree but we’re nothing alike.”

“That’s often the case with siblings, I believe, Sir.”

“Is that the case with yours?”

“Indeed, we get along now but growing up we fought like cat and dog and had little in common.”

“I see.” He looked at me and smiled. There was a brief pause before his eyes flashed with irritation. “Get up!”

I sprung to my feet. “Is there something wrong?”

“I never said there was anything wrong, did I?” he snapped. “I cannot look at you if you’re sitting.”

I supposed I was expected to learn every mood, every whim, every eccentricity that he possessed in that strange mind of his. One moment he wished me seated, the next to stand, as though I were his puppet and he pulled every string. I was to lose part of myself to this life, I could feel it consuming me already. Pretty soon his existence would become everything and mine nothing, eclipsed by his superior position and importance.

…

I spoke with Doris about him that first evening as we stood tired and tatty, turning off the gas-lights together after a long day of work. The hallway was eerily quiet.

“I never know what to say around him. It seems sometimes he wants me to be serious, other times he wants me to be the clown.”

“He’s like that. Bit like Jekyll and Hyde. His mother doesn’t know what to do with him so she mostly ignores him.”

I turned off the gas-lamp I was working on. I noted that some rooms had electricity, others did not, inconsistent like the Master. There was no answer as to why this was and so I carefully broached the next subject.

“Did he…did the Master…fight in the war?”

“Oh no,” she whispered. “Never got the chance, wasn’t fit for duty. Flat feet they said but they all knew his nerves would never hold up for the medical.”

I rubbed my chin. It didn’t seem he had a problem with nerves. “Perhaps I’ll keep quiet about that then.”

“Probably best. Did you fight?” she asked.

“Yes, I was in the trenches, did my bit and all that.”

I bit my lip before I said another word. I never spoke too much about my time in the trenches, didn’t care to bring those sorts of memories flooding back. I’d spent the last few years trying to forget them and I had no intention of raking it all up again. The past was the past as my old dad used to say and there it would stay, buried along with my other secrets, ready to take with me to the grave.

…

The next morning, I arose to attend to my employer, bringing him a breakfast tray to his bedroom as he apparently refused to eat with his mother. Whilst he ate the toast and boiled egg, I made my way downstairs to the dining room and introduced myself to her, entering the room as quietly as a mouse and standing discreetly beside the table.

“I’m Boys,” I told her, “the new manservant.”

She was seated at one end of a large rectangular table, eating alone. She placed on her spectacles and glanced at me curiously. “Oh yes, Clement mentioned you were here. I hope you’re an improvement on that last fellow.”

I nodded and waited to be excused. I was standing there coughing discreetly for several moments before she looked at me and said: “That will be all, Boys. I don’t like your surname at all. I keep thinking I’m talking to the children.”

“Very sorry, Madam. It’s only…I was born with it.”

She dabbed her mouth with her serviette. “We’re rather stuck with what we’re born with, I agree. Off you go.”

As I exited the dining room, there was the Master standing there dressed in his pyjamas, looking a frightful mess.

“What are you doing down here, Sir?”

“Bloody looking for you, what else? I’m in need of a shave and I bally well need to get dressed.”

“I was about to…”

“Never mind where you were, come along and attend to me.”

His impatience was definitely not a virtue and no matter how many times you worked with someone who treated you in this way, it never got easier. You were used to it— you were used to order and being treated as lesser but being used to something didn’t ever make it right or make it hurt any less.

“Right away, Sir,” I said through gritted teeth.

I shaved him when we reached the bathroom, gently holding the razor at his neck and wondering what it’d be like to let the blade slip just ever so slightly and watch the blood trickle down his chest, dripping slowly into the sink until the basin was red. He stared blankly as I shaved. It was a good job he couldn’t read my thoughts. He then let me dress him, again staring blankly as though a teddy bear full of stuffing with no thoughts or feelings at all. As I was placing his shirt onto his body, I noticed a series of scars along his forearms. I needn’t cut the throat, he seemed to be fond of cutting himself already. He caught me looking then and huffed, pulling his arms away from view.

“Get a move on, Boys. Do this blasted shirt up.”

“Yes, Sir.”

…

The day went along like that. His mood grew worse and worse. Every little thing I did annoyed him and wasn’t good enough and I wasn’t sure how much more I could take. This was only my second day. Maybe we simply weren’t compatible. Maybe I would hand in my notice, move away, find something else. But work was hard to come by, especially after the war and I was trained for little else. I was stuck, that was clear.

I helped the Master into his evening wear and watched as he stood pacing by the mantle in his bedroom, fists clenched and mumbling to himself in French of all things.

“Are you quite alright, Sir?” I didn’t understand more than a word or two of French but to my ears they did not sound like pleasant French words.

“Non, bien sûr que non!” He noticed I was staring at him in confusion. “No, I’m bloody not. I tell my mother I do not want to attend any of these absurd gatherings and yet she replies on my behalf so I am forced to leave my sanctuary and go with her to these…places.”

“You do not like them?”

“Some I don’t. They’re so very dull, Boys. So draining and devoid of purpose. What if you were to come with me?”

“It’s not an overnight stay, Sir, it might not be done.”

“As my guest?”

“I’m not sure that would be appropriate.”

He slammed his fist onto the mantle. “Don’t dare to tell me how things are done! I want you there because I need to talk to someone I know.”

“Your mother will be there.”

“She doesn’t know me at all.”

“I’m afraid I hardly know you either, Sir. I’m afraid you won’t let me.”

I was terrified of his reaction then but instead he nodded and lit a cigarette and took a long drag. “I’m sorry. It was a silly idea. I’m a grown man, I shall bite my lip and jolly well get on with it. Thank you for helping me, Boys.”

That was the first time he’d thanked me since I’d arrived.

“You’re ready, Sir.” I brushed off his jacket.

“I’ll never be ready.”

…

I paced anxiously whilst he was out at dinner as though somehow his nerves were catching. I’d always been a rather easy-going chap and never let too much bother me, in fact no one I had ever worked for was ever so jumpy as Clement Montgomery. I felt I was constantly walking on egg shells.

I stood peering out of the attic window. My chores were completed and all left to do was to wait for my Master and put him to bed. I glanced at the street outside, dimly-lit by street lamps- a crescent moon visible in the black sky. It was nice to have a window—my last room was below stairs and felt more like a coffin than my own comfortable quarters. Here the view was pleasant and I could see all the way to the park on the corner and the road itself was large and spacious and inviting. Linksfield Avenue was probably the grandest street I’d worked on. Each house was identical, four storeys high and each decorated with the same white paint. Each property had a flowerbed with a lower window and a balcony on the second. Linksfield House was where I now worked and it was the focal point of the street, slightly larger than the others as it was the original property that graced the road. Everything around it had been built in its image.

A car finally pulled up outside at around 1’o’clock and I saw the Master clambering out of the back seat. Frank had collected them in the car (yet another household role along with his many other duties) and I quickly straightened myself out and made my way downstairs as I needed to be there to greet him as soon as he came into the house. As he came through the door, he handed me his coat and I hung up both his and his mother’s items before politely asking whether they had a pleasant evening.

“It was very entertaining, Boys” the mother said. “Is Boyle upstairs? I’m ready for bed. All that singing at the piano has quite tired me out. I’m not as young as I once was. Goodnight Clement.”

“Goodnight Mother.” He waited for her to leave and then turned to me. “What a diabolical evening, Boys, quite dreadful.”

Standing there in his evening wear he looked quite well and human. I’d even go as far as to say quite handsome.

“Was it, Sir?” I wasn’t sure whether I was interested or saying it out of habit.

“I’ll retire as well,” he said.

I followed him up the stairs. My legs were beginning to ache after a long day of fetching, carrying, waiting and daydreaming and I would relish the moment I would get to rest my legs and eyes and surrender to my bed. He worried only about his sleep, his exhaustion. I was not a thought in his mind. I was inconsequential. 

I opened the door for him and he sat on the bed as I got his nightwear from the wardrobe. I undressed him, placed on his pyjamas and collected his dirty laundry for the hamper. He didn’t move, staring vacantly ahead once more. I wondered whether to talk.

“Why so quiet, Boys?” he whispered hoarsely.

“I’m sorry, Sir, was there something you wanted to talk about?”

“Of course not, but one imagined that you were quite a sociable sort.”

“Really? I rarely get the chance to do anything like that.”

“But you have a sense of humour, I can tell.”

“It’s nice of you to notice. Will I be allowed to use it?”

He laughed. “Don’t push your luck. That will be all, Boys.”

“Very well.” I nodded. Before I turned off the main light, I noticed the scars once again on his forearms as his sleeve brushed upwards. I ignored it once again.

I headed upstairs. Finally, my day had ended and I could get some sleep before the long tedious routine started all over again. My head hit the pillow with blessed relief and I must’ve been asleep for several hours when I was suddenly awoken by a strange moaning noise. I sat bolt upright.

“Hello?” I said, turning on the lamp and looking around. No one was there but I could still hear a moaning. “The Master?”

I climbed from my warm bed, my bare feet freezing on the cold floor and I placed on my slippers and dressing gown. I left my room and fumbled in the hall darkness, unsure whether to turn on a light and wake up the household. The floorboards on the staircase creaked as I walked down a flight to where the Master’s room was located. There was a small slither of light coming from under the door and there was another murmur from inside.

I knocked gently. “Sir, are you alright?

I waited, wondering whether he would scream at me to go but instead he murmured again. “Boys, is that you?”

I opened the door and there he sat in the glow of the lamp-light, on the bed, tears streaming down his face, his hands shaking, his golden hair matted and unruly.

“Come in, close the door,” he sobbed.

“Did you have a nightmare?” I stood over him, unsure of what to do. This had never happened in any of my previous employments. It was as though I had seen a little child in a nursery, crying for my help.

He clung onto the bed covers. “No, I’m afraid I don’t know what happened.”

“Can I help you back into bed?”

He nodded, wiping his nose with his hand. I spied a raggedy old teddy bear and picked it up. Clement Montgomery was angry and snatched it from me.

“Don’t touch him!”

“I’m sorry. Is he yours?”

“My father gave him to me when I was a boy. He’s the only thing to ever remain by my side.”

“He’s looking a little broken, Sir,” I said, pointing at the stuffing seeping from a tear in his front.

“We all get the stuffing knocked out of us, don’t we?” he said.

I stood there, shifting my weight from one foot to another. “We do. Do you need anything else or will that be all?”

He hesitated for a moment. “No. Only, you won’t inform my mother of this episode, will you?”

“There’s nothing to tell, Sir.”

As I helped him under the covers and watched him close his weary eyes, I scooped the bear into my arms and took him from the room. It was quite a gamble but up to the attic with me he went where I spent the next hour stitching him up, placing his stuffing back inside until he was as good as new. I crept downstairs and placed the bear upon the pillow beside the Master and I had to be extra quiet in case he woke up. But when I looked to the bed-side table I saw an empty bottle of sleeping tablets as though he had just taken some and so I knew he’d be dead to the world for quite some hours.

I looked at him. I didn’t know why but I suddenly felt so responsible. There was something about him that I couldn’t work out, something innocent and young and broken. I closed the door gently behind me and left him to his slumber. It was only a couple of hours until dawn, I had to get myself some sleep before the early call would send me straight to the humdrum of my daily routine. Why could I not get this man from my mind?

…

Breakfast was a splendid sight and I gratefully tucked into two slices of marmalade toast and a bowl of cereal. Many pairs of eyes were staring at me over the servants’ kitchen table.

“You look tired, Jack,” Frank said as he read his newspaper, “not get any sleep?”

“Late night,” I replied, keeping my answer brief.

“Their lot likes to keep us up to all hours. Party nights are always the worst,” said Mary as she stitched on a button to a cardigan. “Lady Prue loves gassing into the small hours.”

“Lady?” I queried. “She’s a Lady?”

“Not officially, she just likes to use the title to make herself seem grander!”

The bell from the Master’s bedroom rung so I gulped down my strong black tea as quickly as possible and made my way to his room. I immediately opened the heavy curtains and placed his breakfast tray onto the bed.

“Are you quite well this morning, Sir?”

He was sitting up in bed, looking quite a mess still, bleary-eyed and hair askew.

“I’m quite exhausted truth be told but today is another day.”

“Quite a sunny one. I don’t suppose you’d like a walk in the park? Your calendar is free.”

He nodded. “Perhaps…uh…Boys?”

“Yes?”

He picked up his teddy bear and stroked its head. “It appears my bear has made a miraculous recovery in the night. Did you have anything to do with this?”

I smiled, feeling my cheeks flush. “When life knocks the stuffing out of us, Sir, it’s always nice to have someone to help stitch us back together again.”

He smiled. “Will you accompany me on my walk?”

“If Sir wishes.”

“Sir does.” He laughed and then looked away. “It’s true I need some fresh air.”

“You finish your breakfast, then I’ll come and dress you. We’ll go after that.”

“Thank you, Boys, you have been most congenial.”

…

The sun blazed in the sky as we walked through the gates of the park and the birds sung beautifully above us in the trees. It was wonderful to get outside. I was an outdoor person in truth and the Master definitely looked better for some fresh air. Some colour had returned to his cheeks and as he glanced up at the clouds that were beginning to form in the sky, he had a look in his eyes like an infant, fascinated by the shapes and colours.

“Rain do you think?” he said.

“Maybe.”

He looked at me then. “What was your name again?”

He couldn’t remember! “Boys?”

“No, no, I know that, you fool. Your Christian name? John was it?”

“Jonathan, Sir, but people call me Jack.”

“I suppose I’m people, aren’t I? Would you object to I sometimes calling you Jack when it is just we two?”

“I’m not sure how right that is.”

“Oh, ignore all the pretentious rules. Sometimes we must break them. And no more of this ‘sir’ nonsense. When it is just we two, you will call me Monty.”

“Monty, Sir?”

“My name, Jack. Clement is so very…un-me. My friends call me Monty, or rather they used to when I had them.”

I didn’t respond. I had no idea why he had no friends but I also didn’t expect that I was a friend now. His mind changed so rapidly, I expected to be back to being called Boys the very next day. He was my Master, I was his servant and no matter how parallel our lives were now, I doubted there could ever be friendship. That was forbidden, not allowed. These weren’t the rules. His kind and my kind could always be civil, could even like each other, but be friends? I doubted.

He linked his arm through mine. “To the greengrocers wasn’t it? You wanted to pick something up for cook?”

“Yes…that’s right…Monty.”

Saying it felt wrong. He wasn’t a mate from the pub. And he was far too uptight to be called Monty!


	2. Secret

The weeks which followed were somewhat uneventful, those sort-of-weeks that blend into one another and offer little to remember or recount. Monty— though I hastened to call him that at the time— was true to his word, calling me Jack whenever it was we two and though he was still difficult to deal with, he had several good days among the bad ones. When he was genial, he made pleasant conversation and would even thank me for my work but when he was in one of his dark moods he would grumble and mutter under his breath, even snap at me and barely look me in the eye. I never knew which side of him would greet me when I arose from my bed each morning. 

Sipping my black tea in the servants’ hall one day, I was shaken from a daydream by a letter placed upon the table by Frank. 

“Came for you in the second post,” he said, “what do you think it is?”

“Hard to say without being able to read through paper,” I joked to which he nudged me and laughed.

“Point taken. I’ll leave you to it then.”

I tore open the envelope, not using the paper knife the way sir would do it and glanced over the rather scruffy and ink-stained paper that was inside. I frowned. It felt as though my heart had stopped for a moment. I rose from my chair, slipping the paper into my breast pocket. 

“Is everything alright, Mr. Boys?” Doris said observing me from across the table. 

“I…yes…fine, you leave it to me.” 

I was in a complete muddle and so rushed to the attic room and threw myself down upon the bed. I didn’t move for several moments. I didn’t even think about getting the master dressed for dinner or what time or day it was. I simply sat and thought about the letter. I stared at the contents with its sloppy handwriting full of errors and I recognised the hand even before I read the name at the bottom. Blackmail. Pure and simple. Albert Selby was the writer of the note, an old acquaintance, a friend even; lived down the same street back when we were kids. But now he was in town and he wanted money, money to keep him quiet about the crime I had committed. The theft had been when I was nineteen— the theft I’d concealed from everyone ever since— the one which had me serving at His Majesty’s Pleasure. But it was so long ago. I’d fought in a war since then, I’d built a career in service, why was this here to haunt me now?

My past had caught up with me and I was foolish to think that one’s past digressions could ever be forgotten. No one could ever move on from such matters, they eventually caught up with you like a phantom in the night and I was apparently burdened to carry it with me for the rest of my days.

I thought back to those times, confined to that cell. I’d only been young, all my life ahead of me. I’d made mistakes, what man hasn’t? But how I wanted to go back to those days, to meet myself and tell that young thin creature that there was another way and the sentence was not worth it. I felt some shame but I confess a big part of me was more regretful of being caught. Yes, I was a thief but was it as bad as people made out? I had nothing then. But was that an excuse?

Looking around my small attic room, I suddenly remembered the prison cell like I had been there yesterday. I remembered the smell of the damp and the sound of restless men roaming around like animals. I could almost hear their desperate cries in my mind. Oh, and the boredom of it all. Cramped rooms, the lack of sunlight, the missed loved ones. I had called the master’s home a prison but in comparison it was my palace.

…

I moped around that afternoon with a face like thunder and nothing could rouse me from my troubles. Should the master find out, I’d be dismissed, sent packing without a reference for I had lied to secure the position, claimed I was whiter than white. But once a stain is placed on your character it is very hard to remove.

I dressed the master for dinner that evening but hardly remember doing it as though I were a marionette with someone else pulling the strings.

“Jack?”

I heard his voice softly in my ear and I realised I was still in the master’s room. How had the hours of the day passed so quickly? And the change of his voice from the usual gruffness to its now softness, caught me off guard. I turned to look at him and he was staring at me. 

“I’m sorry, Sir, did you ask for something?”

“My dressing gown, Jack. Are you quite yourself?”

“Yes I am, and that’s the problem.”

I attempted to cross the room but I felt his hand on my arm, pulling me towards him. “Well I don’t care for riddles. Is there something the matter?”

It was my turn to snap. “No, why should there be?”

“Don’t raise your voice to me, Boys! You have quite forgotten where you are.”

I stammered, running my fingers through my hair. “I’m sorry, Sir. I’m not quite sure what’s wrong with me today.”

I took his dressing gown from the coat hanger and handed it to him where he placed it on.

“Family troubles perhaps for the family you rarely see?” he asked.

Why was he prodding me for an explanation? Why couldn’t he leave me alone? “No, they’re fine.”

“You really are difficult to question, Boys. If you don’t want to tell me then you must keep your secrets but don’t let them interfere with your work.”

And so, I changed the subject but how aware I was of his examining eye. He knew full well I was hiding something. It was growing increasingly hard to keep calm, appear as though there was not a black cloud above me ready to unleash its downpour and let me drown. I spent the night unable to sleep, reading the note over and over, wondering how I was going to get out of my predicament. I did not want to pay. I did not have the money to pay. But I also did not want my secret to be revealed. As difficult as my job was, I wanted to keep it.

I kept silent about it the next day and spent the breakfast eating as quietly as possible, barely conversing with my friends, listening to Frank and Doris speaking of the latest book they’d read. I was usually enamoured by their enthusiasm for reading but my stomach felt so sick, so churning, that I couldn’t focus. I was almost relieved when the master sent me on an errand to send some letters for him so I could finally feel some fresh air on my cheeks and think about my plan of action. Looking upon the sun which was trying to emerge from behind the clouds, I almost forgot my troubles and it was with great regret that I had to return to Linksfield.

When I arrived at the iron gate on the way home, the master was standing by it—quite uncharacteristically— tapping his hands together. He was wearing one of his serious faces and he waved his finger at me, beckoning me closer, luring me back to my prison. He never uttered a word then, simply kept pointing until we reached his study and he motioned for me to close the door behind us. He stared at me, the seriousness of his face never wavering and then I felt my heartbeat quicken as I saw the piece of paper in his hands. My piece of crumpled, ink-stained paper. The letter!

“You’ve been through my things?” I shouted without thinking as though he were my brother and not my employer.

He sat down at his desk and sighed. “This is my house, Boys.”

“And that’s my room.”

“It’s my room, you merely…inhabit it.”

“But it was under my mattress!”

“The most obvious spot for hiding such a thing. I knew you were keeping something from me and you wouldn’t bally well tell me, so I took the matter into my own hands.”

I was dumbfounded. Yes, he was my employer and I owned nothing but meagre possessions but the invasion of privacy was uncalled for.

“Well now you know, I…” I couldn’t bring myself to even say it. I felt ashamed, not so much of what I considered a small crime but more that I had lied about it.

“You applied to work here, hiding this…indiscretion from me. Were you imprisoned for this theft?”

I nodded, bowing my head, unable to look into his eyes.

“You lied to me about your past to secure a position here?”

“You’d never need to lie in order to earn a living, Sir.” 

I had to say it. I knew I was going to lose my job anyway. I may as well bare my soul with it.

“Well then, Boys, confess. Why did you do it?”

“The crime or the lie that came of it?”

“Both.”

He beckoned me to the chair next to his. “Pretend I’m your priest. Confess.”

“But I…” I reluctantly sat down, “It’s hard to tell you, I’m not religious.”

“Then I am your defence lawyer. Confess.”

“You read the letter. I stole money once when I was a foolish boy in need of it and it was an easy way. I’d rather earn my living now but back then I wanted to take it.”

“You’re sorry then?”

“I’m sorry I was caught and sorry that my family were ashamed of me for a while but I’m not particularly sorry for taking it.”

He looked at me over his half-moon spectacles. “I see. Not guilty in the slightest of the taking of someone else’s money?”

“I wouldn’t say that exactly but he wasn’t really going to miss it if you catch my meaning.”

“And how were you discovered?”

“A policeman was nearby; I didn’t stand a chance.”

“I see. Pour me a brandy would you, I suppose you better have one yourself?”

I was surprised but obeyed anyway, pouring us both a stiff drink. We downed them together and I wasn’t sure whose hands were shaking more.

“I take it you’ll not give me a reference?”

“No.”

I sighed. I understood but it upset me all the same.

“No reference because I’m not letting you go.”

“What?”

“I’ve decided to give you another chance.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s a hassle, because you’re good at your job. Because…because, because…”

“But the thief part, the lying part?”

“I have many acquaintances who are liars and cheats, only their wealth means they carry on regardless and without consequence. Oh, I’m not saying money doesn’t bring about its burdens but you and I aren’t so different, Jack.”

“What do you mean?”

He looked at me with a serious glance but he never answered, simply caressed his glass and sniffed, his eyes drawing away to the curtains where he looked out of the window in deep contemplation.

…

It was a strange few days after that. The master knowing my secret made me feel uneasy as though he held my life in his hands. He was not to let me go, but for what purpose, for his own, for mine? And I still had the matter of the blackmail to face for even if the master knew of my deceit and crime, his mother and the household, the townspeople—did not. My blackmailer wanted money and without it I’d be exposed by the weekend, judged and criticised no matter whether the master cared or not.

To my surprise the master arrived in the servants’ hall on the Friday evening as we ate stew before getting ready to serve the evening meal upstairs. We all stood up as he entered.

“Sir.” We all spoke in some eerie unison.

“At ease all, take your seats,” he said.

Doris, Frank, Mary, and Mrs. Orwell looked at one another dumbfounded for they had never seen the master venture below stairs especially as it meant he would have to be social with people he wasn’t used to.

“I only wanted to speak with Jack…I mean Boys. There’s someone at the door to see him.”

That must have sounded peculiar for a start—that the master was fetching me to tell me about someone at the door but I didn’t bother to look upon the other servants and instead followed him out of the room. I wondered if they could see the guilt or shame in my eyes.

When we were alone in the hallway, I gulped. “He’s here, isn’t he? Oh god, he’s early.”

“I saw him loitering outside the house. By the look of the scallywag, I knew instantly what kind of chap he was. Must be your blackmailer.”

“What am I to do?”

The master didn’t respond and instead was pulling me by my arm to the door where he opened it and we stood facing the scruffy Albert Selby who was standing on the doorstep, smiling at me in a way which nerved me. He was taking great satisfaction in my discomfort and to think we’d once been friends. Friendship was so fickle. True friendship was something I had yet to find.

“There he is,” Albert said, attempting to shake my hand. “Good ‘ol Johnny Boys. Jackie Boy. I’m glad you could grace me with your presence.”

“You’re early,” I said.

“Didn’t think a day would make much difference. I’m surprised you’re doing this in front of the likes of him. Babysitter as well as master?”

I looked back at Clement Montgomery, stood there in a three-piece suit, casually smoking a cigarette as if he were watching a matinee.

I turned back to Albert, looking decidedly the opposite. “I don’t have the money.”

“Then not much I can do mate, is there? Bit unfortunate for you. Your employer know of your past?”

“His employer does,” the master said with a firmness of voice I usually heard used for me. “And not only does he know but he does not take kindly to blackmail in any form. How you can mock this man for past crimes and commit one yourself is beyond me. You shall leave my house at once.”

“But he hasn’t paid so I’m willing to tell all. Your mother, the whole town, any sod who’ll listen.”

“You shall be paid for your silence. Money will shut you up. I shall pay you to go away and never trouble us again.”

“But Sir…” I began but he was hushing me and I saw him hand Albert a bundle of notes.

“If money is the only thing you respond to then take it. But if I ever catch you back here bothering Boys in any way, shape, or form then I shall call the police and believe me I’m sure I have far more connections with the higher-ups at Scotland Yard than you do, pitiful creature.”

Albert’s muddied face was expressionless as he took the money and stuffed it in his top pocket. I wondered if he had hoped for some revenge upon me for doing better than he had done rather than really needing the money for himself, after all, I knew his reputation, there was no proof but talk was talk and Albert could lay his hands on any money he wanted. He finally sniffed and shuffled away from the property with a certain satisfaction appearing on his face.

“You paid him off?” I asked the master.

“He’d have kept coming back until you paid up.”

“Still could do. You don’t know these types. He knows you’ll pay now, might expect more next time.”

“He won’t if he doesn’t want me to tell the police. He may be a blackmailer but he hasn’t got much sense. I could have him followed and there’d be any number of things on him. This way he has gained his money, got his satisfaction and you are clean. We need not turn him in, even I should not want that as low as vermin he is. He is to be pitied.”

“But why did you do it?” I was still confused.

“I hate the ghastly business of blackmail.”

“And that’s all?”

“Need there be more. My mother might throw you out for your past if she knew, actually I know she would but I have to confess that there is a certain…thrill in keeping you on.”

“Thrill?”

“A former thief in my household and one who lies to get where he is and is friends with men in the criminal fraternity.”

I pulled him aside, trying to quiet him. “I stole once a long time ago and lied afterward to get more work. I don’t think I qualify as being a part of the criminal underworld.”

“You need not explain. I shall find it a lark to walk on the wild side with you.”

I smiled. “That you certainly did. You never say boo to a goose so where did this sudden courage come from to challenge old Albert Selby?”

“I’m not sure. Sudden impulse I suppose. As I clarified, I so very hate blackmail and despite your many flaws, Boys, I should not like to see your name dragged through the mud or mine by association for that matter. Besides, I wouldn’t want you to starve.”

I didn’t reply. I was astonished. All I had thought of him. All his unkindness and then this. What did it mean?

“Well come on then, you’ve got much work to do,” he snapped, “don’t stand there gawping at me. I shouldn’t be out here.”

I knew then as I followed him indoors that I was forever in his debt and a strange terror swept over me for he held my reputation in his hands. He knew and could use any of it against me at any moment. Could I trust him?

A strange sensation passed over me from then on, a numbness in my legs and a constant feeling of pins and needles. I felt entirely on edge. I couldn’t understand my master’s motive, I’d never had a single soul stick up for me in the way he had and yet my suspicious mind couldn’t help but wonder if he’d done it for some sinister purpose. The sudden departure of the previous manservant played heavily on my mind and I started to conjure all ridiculous images of what sir intended for me. Then of course I took a deep breath and splashed my face with cold water. How did I know it was for malicious reasons, maybe he wanted to give me another chance, maybe he’d grown accustomed to me, maybe he was simply too lazy or scared to find a new man and be proved wrong by his mother? When I started my position at Linksfield I never would have considered my master as an honourable gentleman but I was starting to wonder just who he was and whether my perceptions of him had been wrong.

…

It was suppertime when he further surprised me. I had overheard something between him and his mother when they had assumed I wasn’t in the vicinity, but I was standing outside the door, listening carefully as I heard his mother ask him who the suspicious man was who she had spied outside the property that morning. 

“He was an ordinary delivery man,” the master said through a mouthful of food.

“He had no cart and no supplies.”

I could hear him sighing. “An off-duty delivery man then, what does it matter?”

“Why must you talk in riddles, Clement? Who was he calling upon? Not one of yours, is he?”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“Well I saw you and Boys conversing with him.”

“Then we were as you say, simply conversing and would you kindly cease this line of questioning?”

“Why would you converse with a man of that sort?”

“What sort? I was merely saying hello to an acquaintance of my manservant. How you go on!”

“He had a dirty face.”

“You really were spying, weren’t you? Honestly Mother, how you crave drama. It was a simple ‘how do you do?’ and on his way.”

I wished I had seen her expression then. And how did the master look, did he make it clear there was a secret? Did he shuffle and avoid eye contact or was lying to his mother second nature to him? Did he sit there as calm as day eating his food and ignoring her interrogating stare? I coughed loudly to indicate I had now entered the room and made my way to the table holding the wine bottle next to madam and wishing I could open it and pour the red liquid over her head where it would drip down her favourite dress like blood, reducing her to a sorry state. I’d fantasied about that. I wouldn’t hurt the old woman, but to wipe that sudden smirk off her face. 

“Ah, Boys,” Sir said, holding out his glass.

“We were just talking about you.” Her eyes fixed upon me. 

His fist made contact with the table. “Mother!”

“Were you, Madam?” I said carefully avoiding eye contact with her son for fear of making it obvious I was concealing something.

She wiped her mouth with a serviette. “Whatever you say Clement dear.” She emphasised ‘dear’.

It wasn’t until I got the master ready for bed that I was able to enquire on her suspicions. To my surprise he laughed. It was a though we had reversed roles—I now nervous and twitchy, worried of my fate—and he calm and collected, his eyes twinkling with mirth.

“Worried I’ll feed you to the lions, are you?”

“Will you?”

“You must have a very low opinion of me. I’m not that cruel, am I? Besides there could be a silver lining in here somewhere.”

I didn’t know what to make of that statement.

“How so?”

“I’ve done something for you, you can do something for me.”

I didn’t like the sound of that and began to back away. 

“Why so shocked, Jack? I assure you I have nothing in mind that would scare you.” He looked at me and caught my hesitation. “I see, I see.” He did up his pyjama top unaided and laughed. “You’ve listened to servant gossip. Disappearing manservants, off they went, never to be seen or heard of again.”

“And?”

“To even ask me. I shan’t tell you if there’s such doubt in your mind. And all I meant by my earlier statement was that I need your help in something, a favour if you will. Seeing that ruffian got me thinking. What if I were to come with you to the pub?”

I nearly dropped my pile of laundry. “Pub with me?”

“You said you rarely go out but I’ve seen you pop off on your half-day to the publican house.”

“You followed me?”

“Don’t be so paranoid. I happened to notice you when I came home from Rosamund’s of a Thursday and true enough every week, there you are, drinking and socialising, ever the Jack-the-lad with friends. I would like to join you that’s all.”

“Why? Why ever would you want to do that?” 

And why would I want my one day off to be in the company of my employer? Had he gone mad? 

“So, let’s get this straight. You Clement Montgomery of Linksfield want to socialise in a regular old pub with Jonathan Boys your thieving manservant?”

“Goodness you make it sound so preposterous. Can I…a man…not drink as other fellows do? I’d like to take a walk on the wild side with you. I so hate society functions.”

“I just thought you hated people.”

His eyes flashed with irritation. “That just proves how little you know me. And I really don’t care for that tone, Jack. You’re still in my employment thanks to my generosity so to be quite frank you have no choice but to obey me.”

And on that final statement I departed and headed to my bed where I would spend the night wide awake, not with worry for my crime but that my reclusive master was about to enter my world, a world he had no experience in. And for some reason I had the sudden feeling that he was my responsibility. Under his roof, in his employ, he had taken care of my problem and now I too was taking care of him, this time for his eccentricities and whims. A man who was afraid of his own shadow suddenly wanted to visit a working man’s pub. Part of me was horrified, the other part fascinated as though a scientist in a laboratory with a test subject. Monty was the mouse and he had been lured with the promise of cheese.

When Thursday my day off rolled around, he was waiting for me at the back door in the afternoon. 

“You can’t just stroll along with me dressed like that,” I said glancing at his fine suit.

“No need to worry, Jack. I’ll meet you outside the pub in twenty minutes. I’ll be incognito.”

I sighed and whispered. “This isn’t a good idea. Aside from having to disguise how you look, what about your voice? You can’t go there saying beastly and ghastly and addressing me as your servant.”

“Give me some credit, Jack, I was an actor for a while, amateur of course, but to spare your blushes I shall give the performance of my pitiful life, just you wait.”

He hurried up the stairs like an excited child. I on the other hand had a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. My easy-going nature was starting to change.

…

True to his word there he stood outside the Brothers in Arms public house at the promised time dressed in the most predictable outfit I could imagine. He’d attempted ordinary dress but to me he stuck out like a sore thumb, kitted out in almost clean stage versions of normal clothes. When I saw him, I ruffled up his jacket and removed his tie, placing it into his pocket. 

“You’ve made too much an effort,” I said. “Ruffle your hair a little.”

“How did you recognise me?” He had a certain glee in his voice as he ran his hands through his curly brown hair.

“You have an easy face to spot but I suppose the fake beard helps a little. Are you sure about this, Sir?”

He hushed me. “No calling me sir. It’s plain old Monty here remember?”

I folded my arms. I supposed I’d have to humour him. “Fine. And who are we to each other?”

“Friends one should think.”

“Don’t say ‘one’. Look don’t talk much. We’ll sit together at first. Be your normal unsocial self. You’re my old friend from back in the day should anyone ask.”

“Back in the day?”

“Yes, just follow my lead.” I sighed. This was not going to go well.

I refused to let him order drinks at the bar and instead sent him like a disappointed apprentice eager for work—to a small table in the tiniest recess in the corner of the room. For once I’d given him an order, and in my world, he was forced to obey it. When I brought over two beers to the table, he was gazing around the place as if he’d never seen such a sight.

“I’d wipe that expression off your face if I were you.”

“Didn’t realise there was one, old boy.”

I buried my head in my hands. “Old boy? Seriously don’t use that expression. In fact, don’t call anyone anything starting with ‘old.’

He suddenly whipped out a notebook from his breast pocket and began scribbling with a pencil that said ‘J. Boys’ on it. Clearly, I wasn’t the only thief in the household.

“What are you doing?”

“I must take notes for research. When I trod the boards, I took notes to help me create a character.” He took a sip from his beer and grimaced. “Crikey.” He wiped the foam from his chin. “Well it’s not wine.”

I looked at him for several moments, astonished by the whole act.

“Why though, why are you doing this? How can you be so comfortable here and not in your own world?”

A tear formed in his eye. “I don’t know. My world makes little sense to me. I don’t quite fit into it somehow. I mean, I enjoy the fine food and exquisite fashion—”

“—and the money!”

He laughed. “—and the money. But there’s something missing. I don’t feel I can be myself or have any privacy. And the number of girls they fling at me!”

“Fling a few my way,” I said, laughing, forgetting for a moment where we were and who I was bonding with. There was a moment of silence. “Are you sure you’re not just craving all this because it’s new to you, the way my lot get when I tell them I work in a big house for posh folk? People are fascinated by how the other half lives.”

He sipped his pint. “Maybe. Or maybe when I’m here, I’m not me at all and I can say Clement Montgomery is dead because that’s where he should be, six feet under.”

I didn’t quite understand what he meant. “You’ll get bored of this soon enough, you just wait.”

“I suppose so. But for now, please let me savour this moment, Jack. Let me take in the world around me that I never knew. Will you let me?”

I saw another flash of sadness in his green eyes. 

“If it’s what you want, Monty.”


	3. Fight

It’s funny in life how we’ll do anything to not be ourselves. Even if we’ve come to appreciate our own personality and quirks, there’s always that nagging feeling in the back of the mind that you’ve been doing it wrong all these years and that really perhaps nobody likes you in the way you thought they did. Wishing you were someone else on occasion was normal but wanting to become someone else was quite different.

If there was one person who clearly hated his own existence it was Clement Montgomery. We’d been back to the pub several times since that first evening and each time I could see him becoming more attached to ‘Monty’ and less attached to Clement. He said he felt free there, that nobody knew him or bothered him, but the more he ventured to that small inn on dark nights, the more I was convinced he was beginning to lose sight of who he was.

“Another trip to the pub tonight?” he said with a chirpier tone than usual as I dusted down his jacket. I turned away so he wouldn’t see the disappointment on my face.

And speaking of faces. The master’s face was now partly obscured by a beard that he’d recently decided to grow. It didn’t suit him in my opinion, made him look older and scruffier but he wanted to keep up the charade, pretend he was ‘Monty’ and not Clement, act as though the beard somehow changed his personality.

“Well, the pub?” he repeated.

“I suppose so, Sir,” I said, muttering. 

“You don’t want me to go?”

“It’s not quite like that.”

“Then what is it quite like, Boys?”

There he went, calling me Boys whenever I dared to disagree.

“Well, we’ve been there so often recently, that’s all. And I mean, your sister is coming to stay for several weeks. Is it the best time?”

“You’re infuriating, Boys.” He shook me away from straightening his jacket. “I am well aware that old Rosie is staying with us but she’ll be kept in the dark about my other life just as my mother is.”

“So, we’re still going?”

“We shall see. We’ll settle Rosie and the children in first and then…well…do you wish to go to the pub tonight?”

I hesitated.

“You don’t then?”

“It’s not that exactly. I enjoy going, I always did on my day off but now…”

“Go on. What, you’re now jolly well bored of it? Hate my disguise, wish I’d disappear?”

“To be honest, Sir, I don’t get to be alone.”

He seemed irritated then, huffed something and then slumped onto the bed. “You’re embarrassed by me? I cramp your style as it were.”

“No, I was more thinking that you’re my master and it’s hard to relax. I mean you’re my work-life, Sir, and when I go to the pub, that’s my other side, the non-Boys servant stuff. That’s me, Jack.”

“I never order you about. I’m trying to be one of the blokes. But if I ruin your good time then I am sorry.” His tone did not sound apologetic rather childish and irritable but I think deep down I’d hurt his feelings. He was so sensitive.

I suppose he wasn’t used to being spoken to in the way I was speaking to him and in some ways I had no right to question his decisions, I worked for him, he paid my salary, he’d kept me employed after he’d discovered my criminal past. Oh hell, he really did hold that over me whether he intended to or not.

I softened my tone then. “Let’s settle your sister in and then go there in a few days. I think that would be the wisest course of action.”

I’m not sure if I was imagining it but I saw a twinkle in his eyes and a then a smile formed on his lips. He smiled so infrequently that it was somehow a treat to see it.

We spoke little of it for the afternoon, for as soon as a magnificent car pulled up outside the house and a beautiful lady in a large hat stepped out, I knew I was about to meet another of the family—this time, unlike her mother—a real lady, Lady Rosamund, Clement’s sister, married to a very real Lord.

I stood next to the master outside as he and his mother waited to greet their Rosie. I smiled as five children clambered out of the car as if they were clowns in a circus show trying to squeeze into a tiny compartment. I loved children so seeing them around the place made the mood lighter somehow with their happy smiling faces. A moment later they were standing on the doorstep looking up at me with innocence and wonder.

“You’re new,” the oldest girl said.

I laughed. “You’re very clever to notice, miss.” I replied. I took a lollipop form my breast pocket. “Anyone want a treat?”

All the children raised their hands excitedly in the air, shouting. “Yes please!” So I handed all five of them a different coloured lollipop.

Children were happy with lollipops but it took much more to make adults happy and I had yet to see Clement Montgomery possess such emotion. Yes, I’d seen him smile once or twice, I’d seen him relaxed on occasion, even contended maybe. But happy, I didn’t think so. He looked at the children and smiled lightly as though he cared deeply about them, but he didn’t seem excited or energetic, more tired and uncomfortable. 

I was an easy-going sort. Life never got me down too much. I didn’t have much in the way of possessions, didn’t have much to offer but as long as I was treated right with fairness and kindness and able to earn my own living, I was content. 

Another person who seemed quite content with life was Rosamund. I’d never met a woman as confident, as forward, as colourful as the master’s sister. At our first meeting she stood next to me in the hallway, eyeing me up and down in a somewhat seductive manner. 

“You must be Boys,” she said as she grabbed my arm. “A rather strong looking fellow.” Her hand lingered on my arm for several moments.

She was an enormous flirt and from what I could gather from the other servants, she had a certain penchant for men who were not her husband. She was an attractive woman certainly, but I myself had a penchant for a much different type of person. I made it my duty to avoid Rosamund for I had a feeling she was the kind of woman who’d try to make trouble.

…

True to my earlier word, Monty and I visited the pub three days later, he still sporting the beard which didn’t suit him, and I meanwhile worrying the entire time that somebody would recognise him, report back to his mother and my job would be finished. So much for easy-going.

I shook off my feelings and ordered the drinks at the bar whilst Monty sat at our ‘usual’ table. 

“Alright there, Jackie-boy,” Archie the barman said as he poured me two pints. “I see your friend’s here with you again. Monty isn’t it?”

I nodded. “That’s right.”

“Shy, is he? Don’t think I’ve ever heard a peep outta him.”

“Yeah he’s one of lifes more silent types.”

“Wish my mother-in-law was the same!” He laughed, showcasing an impressive gold tooth.

We had a short conversation then about my work at the house, him not realising my boss was sitting at the table. When I finally took over the drinks to Monty, I smiled, but his head was hung low.

“You alright, Sir?”

“Call me Monty. And yes, quite well. I was simply thinking that’s all.”

“Always dangerous that! What about?”

“I’d like to converse with some of the other chaps here but I don’t know what to say to regular folk.”

I took a large gulp of my drink. “You talk to me and I’m a regular person. We’re just like you, mate, except without the money and stupid names.”

He laughed. “I don’t know how I let you get away with being so cheeky, Jack.”

It was at that moment that I clocked a policeman entering the premises by the front door and I instinctively sat to attention as if I had committed a crime just by sitting there. It was strange that I was there with Monty, but it wasn’t illegal. I nudged my employer and as he looked toward the policeman his face turned deathly pale and he spun back around.

“What is it?”

“I know him.” He gulped down his beer in one go, leaving a foam residue on his beard. “I think we better leave before he recognises me.”

“How do you know him?”

“I’d rather not say.”

I quickly followed Monty out of the back entrance and onto the street outside where he stood pacing anxiously back and forth. I touched his shoulders to steady him but he shook me away.

“Sir, you’re panicking, let me help you. Are you alright?”

He looked back towards the pub and was talking in hurried whispers. “I’m fine, I just don’t much like seeing him again.”

“Who is he? Friend of your mother?”

“God no.” He grabbed my hand and pulled me along the alleyway and then to the safety of the main road. “He arrested me.”

Clement Montgomery confided in me that night and I have never revealed his secret to anyone.

…

Within this family of Clement Montgomery, it appeared that secrets were very much a part of their lives as indeed it was mine. Rosamund had secret lovers, Monty had a secret life, and just as he knew of Rosamund’s reputation, she also knew her brother well. She told him so one evening when I was in ear shot in the hall, tying not to listen at the door, well, that’s not entirely true, in fact not true at all. I was very much cheekily trying to listen and peeped through the keyhole.

“I saw you out this evening, brother dear,” she said. 

He sipped his drink. “Did you? What good eyes you have. Is it time for you to retire now, it’s very late?”

“Don’t change the subject, Clem. I was coming back from my nightly constitutional.”

“So that’s what you’re calling it these days? You know you really shouldn’t come home so late by yourself?”

“Who says I was alone? Look, never mind me. I was passing the park, turning into the street when I passed a little pub on the corner. Well who do I spy but Boys heading inside? Of course, I thought nothing of Boys being there, after all a man can visit a pub in his free time and he no doubt deserves the break. But who else should I spy with him? Even more noticeable now you’ve grown the beard, Clem. Even in shabby clothes I could tell it was you. You looked like the child I remember ransacking nanny’s dressing up box. And then I arrive home and you’ve told everyone you’ve retired to bed but you’re not in your room.”

“So, you’ve worked it out. What do you care?”

“I don’t. I’m surprised that’s all, didn’t expect it from you. I do hope Boys isn’t leading you astray. I mean, I wouldn’t mind him leading me astray but that’s beside my point. The fact remains since he’s been here, I find you hairier than normal and sneaking off to raucous public houses.”

“He’s doing nothing of the sort, Rosie. He’s merely helping me to get out a bit more than usual, that’s all.”

She took a long drag from her cigarette. “I hate to break it to you but you’re meant to go out with people from your own circle. Imagine mother’s face when she finds out you’re sneaking off to the pub in silly disguises.”

“You’re going to tell her then?”

“Of course not, you’re my brother and I’m not about to break our sibling pact. But I am quite in shock. My little brother of all people, braving real life. I’m quite naturally jealous.”

“I’ve had a drink or two. I’ve not even interacted much. It’s nothing outstanding.”

“Last time I saw you, you didn’t leave your room for five days.”

He placed down his drink. “Please, I’ve had enough of this conversation. I don’t want to talk to you anymore.”

“Your secret?”

“Yes. A gentleman does not share his secrets with a lady, especially one’s own sister.”

So she knew. I don’t know why I was so unsure of her knowledge. It wasn’t as though I had done anything wrong but life as servant was never your own. If Monty were to do something they disapproved of, yours truly would surely get the blame, accused of leading him to adopt a disguise and change his appearance, subject him to the lives of regular folk who could change his attitudes and form new opinions. I would be taking Clement Montgomery out of the box they placed him in and leading him into one he was completely unaware of. I hadn’t planned it, he had, I hadn’t wanted to continue, he did, and yet I was complying all the same, leading this man into a double life he was getting used to. And now that Rosamund knew, it meant he felt able to visit the pub again the next night. What had started as a rare trip to see how the other half lived had now become all he wanted to do.

…

Upon arriving at the pub a few nights later, my first action was to make sure that the policeman who we had encountered on our last visit was not in the immediate vicinity or lurking around any corners. Satisfied he was not there ready to leap out with his truncheon, I ordered our regular drinks from the barman and took our glasses to the table. Monty was sitting there, once again in a daydream, his head in his hands. He looked up finally and I caught him staring vacantly at something in the middle distance. So often he did that, stared into nothingness as if he could see someone there talking to him. Perhaps a guardian angel. Perhaps his long-missed father who was the only one to understand him.

Although Monty was still dressed in the tatty clothes and sporting that rather unruly beard, the charming smell of his expensive aftershave gave him away immediately. He never paid attention to the smaller details. I even caught a glimpse of his watch-fob sticking out from his jacket. The clothes didn’t maketh the man, the man maketh the man, and to my eye he stood out like a sore thumb. He might as well have frequented the bar as wealthy Clement Montgomery.

We mostly sat by ourselves for the evening until Archie the barman called out that the darts match was about to begin. I’d forgotten that Thursday night had been the darts night—it’d been so long since I’d had that particular evening free—and I wondered if this darts evening was the best night to have Monty around.

As the little bell rang to signify the match was about to begin, Monty glanced at me as if he’d not been listening to a word Archie had said. “What the bally well is that bell for?”

“The darts match.”

It was at that moment that the barmaid, Amy, appeared by the table, carrying some darts in her hands. “You fellas fancy a go in the match? Jack?”

“Not for me thanks, Amy,” I said politely.

In truth I’d never been a fan of it, or more I was terrible at the game and couldn’t stand to be humiliated in front of my peers and especially in front of Monty. 

Twirling a strand of her red hair around her finger, Amy sat down next to him. “And what about you my love? You’re the soft-spoken one, aren’t you?”

Soft spoken! If only she knew!

“Well it’s been a long time since I played any darts,” Monty said, uttering his first words to anyone rather than me. He looked at me and rubbed his chin. “Haven’t played a game since I got dragged into it by an old flame.”

I had no idea if that statement was truth or play acting for the benefit of the barmaid.

“Give it a go, love,” she said, “it’d be nice to have a bit of a handsome face to look at.”

Monty smiled politely but I wasn’t sure he realised that she was flirting with him, the way Rosamund had been flirting with me ever since she’d arrived. He seemed quite oblivious when the flirting was directed at him.

“Should I, Jack?”

I wasn’t sure if I wanted to be humiliated when he lost dramatically but then I could hardly tell him he couldn’t and not allow him the chance to compete. He was my master, not the other way around.

“It’s up to you…mate,” I said.

“You don’t need Jack’s permission. Go on, give it a whirl,” Amy said.

“Right ho, sounds a wheeze.”

I rested my head in my hands. ‘Right ho?’ ‘Wheeze?’ He never could quite get the hang of it. The words gave him away even more than the watch-fob.

But that was the least of my worries. Normally easy-going Jack Boys was now feeling not so easy-going at the sight of my master standing close to the darts board, crouching down in the most bizarre fashion as he stretched his legs. He started lunging and then bobbing up and down like he was going underwater and then rushing to the surface for air. I was mortified. I can say that with much confidence but I’ll also admit that there was some small part of it that was endearing— that he had lost his inhibitions, that he was like a new-born animal stepping into the wild for the first time with unsteady legs.

“Monty, mate,” I called out to him, sensing the tension in the room. “It’s your turn.”

“I know that, Boys…I mean, Jack. Don’t rush me, I’m getting in the right frame of mind.”

“It’s not me doing the rushing.”

“Then everyone will have to wait their turn.”

He started to bob up and down again in some ludicrous— I could only guess ‘upper-classed’ ritual. Either that, or it was just a Clement Montgomery ritual, one of his many quirks and unusual behaviours. What had formerly been endearing was now wearing thin and at this point had I not know him personally, I too would have been annoyed and ready to move him along.

One of his competitors, a troublemaker, a burly fellow with a pot-belly and a red face, shoved him. I’d seen this man before. He was not a popular sort and whilst the other men kept themselves to themselves and had a good time, this man was always looking for a fight. I walked over to Monty’s direction to keep an eye on him.

“Listen, mate,” the burly man said, his beery breath all over us. “I’m trying not to get angry but you’re taking the bleedin’ biscuit here. Damn well forfeit if you don’t wanna or throw the dart before I throw you at the board instead.”

“I beg your pardon?” Monty said and then seemed to remember his voice was all wrong. “I beg your pardon, mate? What is your problem?”

I placed my hands over my face. I didn’t know what was worse, the fact that Monty was about to get a black eye or his atrocious attempts at mimicking my accent and speech. A moment later I had my answer as he continued to assert his right to do as he wished, and with that a burly fist met with Monty’s delicate eye, and down he went onto the ground like a sack of potatoes. This was followed by a couple of kicks to the ribs and legs and then another punch to the face, causing blood to spurt from his nose.

“Monty!” I called, jumping to the ground beside him. “He’s down, get off him!” I shouted at the man.

Thankfully the master wasn’t unconscious, he was still very much breathing and as I sat next to him, Amy joined me, handing me a glass of water to give to him which I held at his mouth and he dribbled it as he attempted to drink.

She turned to the other men. “Come on, give them some space.”

From the corner of my eye, I could see Archie throwing the troublemaker out of the pub but my focus was firmly on my master, glancing over him, praying to God that he was not too badly injured. Amy was suddenly mopping up his face with a cloth.

“Oh, you poor thing,” she said as she stroked his hair.

I think she’d taken quite a shine to him. I wonder what she’d have thought if she’d known he was the man who owned the most expensive house in the town.

“I’m alright,” Monty said, gently pushing us both away and attempting to stand. I had to steady him as his legs were buckling.

“You’re bleeding everywhere. Looks like he got your nose and your eye. Just great, you’re gonna have a right shiner by tomorrow. What’s your mother gonna say?”

“I’m sure his mother will be more concerned about his welfare,” Amy said.

“You don’t know my mother, young lady.” Monty tapped her hand. “Thank you for your assistance, you have been most helpful.”

His fake regular man persona had gone out of the window as soon as the bully had knocked him for six. All I had taught him had been knocked out of his handsome head in the space of a few minutes and I could see Amy was confused as to why his accent was constantly changing.

To stop Amy asking questions, I placed Monty in an upright position, placing his arm around my shoulder so I could lead him from the premises, and we headed together out into the dark night. Outside the air was fresh and the stars twinkled above. The moon was full and bright and had the fight not happened it would have been a sight to behold. Instead I was to get Monty back to the house as quickly as possible and worry that I was to be fired as soon as his mother laid eyes on him.

Unfortunately, when we had walked but a few paces, there our attacker stood, lying in wait, hands outstretched ready for another go. He lurched forward toward Monty, a broken bottle in his hands, jagged green glass ready to stab him. I didn’t even have time to think. I quickly grabbed the man’s arm, twisting it forcefully until he had no choice but to drop the bottle. I let go but he took a swing. I ducked. He took another swing, this time hitting me on the lip until blood spurted from my mouth. Finally, I punched him back, my fist hitting him square on the jaw. He went down onto his knees and it gave us an opportunity to flee. We were both worse for wear but Monty looked the most hurt so I steadied him against me and we legged it down the alleyway and back to the house. 

By the time we got to the trees lining the property, we hid behind them, glad to have reached safety. The only issue was that we were covered in blood and needed to be unseen.

“We’ll have to go below stairs, Sir, to the servants’ quarters.”

“Whatever you have to do, Jack,” he said. “I trust you.”

I nearly dropped him from my arms. Trusted me? I’d been a thief. I’d gone along with his ridiculous charade. I didn’t protect him from harm. I had failed him.

…

Dripping blood all over Mrs Orwell’s kitchen had immediately put us in her bad books but when she saw how hurt the master was, she softened and sent Frank and Doris to fetch water, blankets and cleaning materials.

“Bit of trouble?” Boyle said as she momentarily looked up from her sewing. There could be an outbreak of bubonic plague and that woman would announce it like it was merely one person with a tickly cough.

“You could say that, yeah,” I said, helping Monty into the chair.

“What happened?” Mrs. Orwell asked.

I looked at Monty and he looked back at me. 

“We were mugged,” he said suddenly. “Ghastly. Boys fought back, got a punch for his pains but we’re quite alright now, no need for a fuss.”

“No need for a fuss?” Doris said, returning to the room with Frank. “Sir, you have to tell the police.”

“I don’t want to bother them,” he said quickly. “Fetch Rosie would you, Doris?”

“Your sister?”

“Yes, of course my sister, who else?” Monty snapped.

I don’t think he meant to be rude but how I cringed when he spoke to people in that way. Doris bowed and left the room whilst Mrs. Orwell handed poor Frank the mop.

“Is it wise to call your sister here, Sir?” I asked.

He whispered into my ear. “I’d rather her than mother. She knows men in the police, Jack, she can make this all go away.”

“Where were you anyway?” Frank asked. “Bit late to be out.”

“I was visiting a friend,” Monty said. “I needed Boys to carry some things for me. It was darned hard to find a cab.”

He was better at this lying garb than I first realised! Made me wonder what else he lied about. I knew there was his secret but were there other secrets that even I was not privy to?

Suddenly the door swung open and there Rosie stood, gasping, waving her arms melodramatically like some sort of performing seal. “Oh, my poor darling, Clem, my poor baby brother.”

She rushed over to him and practically shoved me out of the way to get to him. She hadn’t even seen the fellow for four months and now he was her ‘darling baby brother’. People never failed to amaze me.

“Rosie, stop fussing. I do not want a word of this to mother.”

“Only if you tell me what happened.”

“I’ll tell you upstairs.” He attempted to get up but winced in pain. “Boys, would you help me?”

“I’ll help lift him,” Rosie said, assisting me. “Let’s get him to his room. Boyle, if you could distract my mother.”

I didn’t see Boyle’s face but the woman was constantly eye-rolling so I could only assume that was her reaction to the order.

…

By the time Rosie and I had helped Monty to his room, there were droplets of blood leading there as his nose was still bleeding. My own lip was cut and it didn’t seem much of a bother but Monty was clearly suffering, groaning and wincing as we helped him onto his bed.

Rosie stood above him with her arms folded. “Well, I’m waiting for an explanation.”

“Could you let your own brother breathe?” Monty said.

“Has this anything to do with you two visiting that wretched public house?” She leaned in close to me. “Boys, be honest with me, did you two get into a fight?”

“It wasn’t quite like that,” I said, stammering.

“It was nothing to do with Boys,” Monty quickly added. “And yes, we were in the public house, alright? So now you can laud that over me. Some brute decided to pick a fight with me. Could’ve happened to anyone.”

“But it happened to you. The respected, if not peculiar, Clement Wilfred Montgomery. Boys, I hope you haven’t been encouraging this behaviour.”

“For goodness sakes, you sound like mother.”

I’d never seen someone look so offended by a statement before. 

“I’m sorry, Clement, but it’s only because I worry about you. I’ll not tell mother, she wouldn’t understand. You rest though and Boys, make sure you clean him up and put him to bed.”

“Of course, m’lady.”

She kissed her finger and then placed it on the top of her brother’s head before giving my bicep a quick squeeze and hurrying from the room. I glanced down at Monty, sitting there, caked in blood and dirt and honestly, he looked so pitiful. That little innocent animal straight to the slaughter.

“Come on,” I said, leading him to the bathroom.

I sat him on the side of the bathtub and stripped him to his under-things. He flinched whenever I touched him. And I flinched whenever I had to bend my fingers. My knuckles were sore from the blow I’d delivered to our attacker.

“He’s made a good job of your ribs,” I said, pointing to his ribcage which was red and blotchy.

“You’ve made a good job of your hand. Saving us both and getting hurt in the process.”

I looked away shyly. “It’ll heal but I might need to call in a doctor for you.”

“You’ll do no such thing. Will you just do what you’re paid for and stop telling me what to do?”

I resisted the urge to yell at him, note that it was his carelessness that had resulted in this mess but he was right in that it had been my job to protect him from harm. In his employ and in his debt, I was to do so. And not just in a professional capacity either, I felt responsible somehow as though he needed my help.

I ran some water from the tap and then made sure it was the right temperature. “Do you need help to undress further?”

“I’ll be fine,” he muttered, signalling that I should leave him. 

But after several moments in the bedroom as I tried to clear up the room of the mess and blood, I heard a noise, a sort of sniffing. 

“Sir?” I called out, to no reply.

When he didn’t answer a second time, I opened the door to find him sitting in the bath, tears streaming down his face.

“Are you in pain?” I bent down beside the tub.

He wiped his eyes. “I’m feeling better, honestly, you needn’t fuss.”

I sat on the edge of the bath, unable to move or speak for uncertainty of his mood.

“I’m tired, you’ll forgive me. I overdid it.”

“You did.”

“I told you that, no need to agree with me.”

“I know it’s not my place but I have to tell you Sir, that what happened tonight can’t happen again. My neck will be on the line and I can’t risk all that.”

He looked up at me with tear-stained eyes. “You don’t want to go to the pub with me anymore?”

“It’s not a matter of wanting to or not wanting to, it’s not what we do.”

“Isn’t it? What is it we are supposed to do then, Boys? What am I allowed to do and what aren’t I? If you’re so enlightened, answer me that.”

“I can’t talk to you when you’re in one of your moods.”

Monty hit the water with his hand. “Then don’t talk to me. I never asked you to!”

Silence then. I stood up, wiped down my wet trouser leg and looked at myself in the mirror. The blood on my lip seemed to have dried but I looked awful. 

“Then I’ll leave you. Call me when you’ve finished your bath. I’ll put you to bed and clear up.”

“Oh, for goodness sakes, Jack. Leave all the cleaning until tomorrow. Look at me.”

I turned reluctantly and faced him. His features had softened and his wet hair was pasted to his head making it appear darker. But somehow it made him look younger, even more so than usual.

“I’m sorry I got you into all this. I really am.” He didn’t look at me when he said it. “I’m clearly not fit for that place either. Nowhere am I meant to be. You’re right. I can’t go back there. I shall stay here where I know I’m safe.”

“I didn’t mean…”

“Go to bed, Boys. I’ll get my pyjamas on and go to bed. Get some sleep.


	4. Stars

After the disastrous pub incident, and indeed the weeks that followed, it was as though the gloomy weather outside had been transported inside and we were living under some giant black cloud. My master, Monty, had not left Linksfield for the entire period, keeping mainly to his bedroom and study, refusing once again—as in those early days—to venture outside and mix with people and the world around him. The constant rain made it harder for me to persuade him to take a walk for he’d shrug, glance outside the window, sigh deeply and declare that he refused to brave the world in such terrible conditions. The weather was an excuse of course. He simply didn’t want to leave the safe cocoon he’d created. He’d become scared of the outside— the unknown.

What was particularly difficult was that every time I dared to bring up the fight which took place, or mentioned taking a walk for some air, he shut me down, flew off the handle, shooed me away from him and I began to wonder whether he was behaving in such a way to get back at me somehow, as though he blamed me for his beating. When I finally was brave enough to confront him on the subject, he slumped down onto his bed like a pathetic creature and grumbled.

“You forget yourself, Boys,” he said. 

There he was again, calling me ‘Boys’ when I questioned him. And the ‘you forget yourself’ line. How many times had I heard such a turn of phrase?

I ignored him and harshly I admit, opened the curtains in the mid-morning light. As the brightness streamed in, he held his hands over his face as if he were allergic to sunlight.

I was firm. “I didn’t forget myself. I need to talk to you.” 

“Shut those blasted curtains.”

“No. You need the light. Your mother asked me to take care of you and it’s my job to make sure you’re healthy. Sunlight is good for you.”

He jumped out of the bed with more energy than I’d seen in recent weeks and placed on his exquisite silk dressing gown, tying it up wrong so that the cord dangled long. He sighed. “Fine, Jack, I’m up now. I’ll get dressed and feed myself but I’ll not talk about that darned public house of yours.”

“It was your favourite place a couple of weeks ago, Sir.”

“Yes, until it disappointed me the way life does. Look, it’s done with, let’s leave it there, a chapter of my past that I’ve read, didn’t like, turned the page and shut the cover on.”

“But it upset you, I can see that.”

“Everything seems to upset me. Maybe I’m over sensitive, who cares? I should face facts that I don’t fit in with your lot and I also don’t fit in with my lot. That pub was a wake-up call.”

I smiled. “How about instead we create an in-between world where we two strange outcasts live?”

He was suddenly on eager tiptoes at my suggestion but the sad eyes and the low eyebrows were still present. “What is this place like?”

I folded my arms. “I shan’t tell you until you agree to go out.”

“Blackmail! Honestly, Jack, you of all people.”

“A gentle kind of persuasion, Sir… I mean…Monty.”

“Why should I wish to go out? It’s been raining all week.”

I removed his dressing gown, wondering why he’d bothered to put it on when he knew full well that I had his clothes ready. I held his trousers in front of him and he begrudgingly stepped into them.

“It’s not raining today,” I said as I placed on his shirt and helped him do up the buttons. He was capable of doing it himself but I’d learnt that he was so often away with his own thoughts he tended to do them all up wrong. “If you’d care to look outside, you’ll see the sun is shining and the birds are singing. And I think you’ve also forgotten your plans this evening.”

I’d thankfully already done up his cufflinks and placed on his jacket when he pushed me away. 

“Plans?” His smile dropped off his face. “I can’t have plans. I’ve made no such arrangements.”

“Lady Rosamund invited you and your mother to that masked ball of her friend who lives in the countryside. Remember I agreed to drive you down there?”

His eyebrow rose. “Since when can you drive?”

I was offended. How many times had I told him about this? “Since three weeks ago. Frank has been giving me lessons. I thought it made sense to add another string to my bow.”

“And can I trust you not to crash the car and kill me?”

I smirked. “I can’t make promises, Sir.”

“And I suppose I have no say in attending this soiree?”

“No. Your mother wishes it. Your host wishes it. Your sister wishes it. The whole world wishes it.”

“And you?”

“I…well…I wish for you to go outside and meet some people. And as we’re staying the night, we’ll need clothes for tomorrow as well as evening wear. Let me look at you.”

He stood up straight and I looked him over as if an army sergeant checking over his new recruits. He’d not been this presentable in weeks and I smiled fondly at a good job done and he looked so much better for the clean-shaven face. Perhaps I should’ve mentioned that. The master was now beardless, forced me to shave it off several days after the incident. He was quite adamant about it as though somehow the beard itself had been the cause of his bad fortune. I was relieved to be honest. It was an awful thing and he did not suit facial hair. Despite telling him so however, I was not convinced it was gone for good.

“You better get to all the arranging then, Jack.”

“Already packed and ready. The mask I’ve chosen should come in handy to conceal your blushes.”

He managed a titter of laughter. “If only you could come to the dance too. You could hide behind a mask like we were two diamond thieves.”

“As tempting as that is, I’ll have to say no but I’ll be there, just below stairs, reading a good book.”

“What will you read?”

“I enjoy a good bit of poetry these days. Don’t understand it all mind but it’s all learning isn’t it?”

“Well that is something I can help you with.”

“You know about poetry?”

“I was in a poetry club at Oxford.”

I couldn’t help but laugh. 

“I think I’ll try and figure it out on my own but thanks.”

“Can’t I stay with you reading poetry and leave Rosamund and mother to the dancing and socialising?”

I tapped his head with the clothes brush. “No, you bloody well can’t.”

“Boys! Don’t be so cheeky.”

…

With the wind rushing through my fine hair, I felt exhilarated as I drove the master to our destination in the countryside. Having only been driving for a matter of weeks, I’d never driven further than the local streets so this was an exciting prospect and I was enjoying the opportunity to get out of the house and out on the open road. I’d never been to that village before either so I took directions from Frank before we left and then I set about making sure we would be there on time. I wasn’t very good at following instructions though, in fact, I deliberately chose a different route that seemed more thrilling. I mean, if you’ve got to travel, travel in style I always say.

So, there we were whizzing along a country lane, I with my hair and face relishing the force of the wind, and Monty wearing my flat cap (his hair was too wild to keep its shape), closing his eyes as though he imagined that my driving meant a fiery death awaited him.

“Relax,” I called. “Don’t you love that freedom of the open road?”

His eyes sprung open. “I’d love it at a slower pace.”

I laughed. “I’m doing it within the law. Besides we’re a little behind schedule.”

“That’s because evidently you’re ignoring young Frank’s advice and doing what you damn well like as usual.”

“Life’s more fun that way.”

“It’s not meant to be fun; you’re meant to be working.”

“Spoil sport. Alright, we’ll take the turning here if you like. I’ll slow down.”

As I pulled up to the crossroads at the end of the path, there was a sudden judder and the sound of clanking metal and creaking machinery.

“What’s that?” Monty asked.

I attempted to reverse but the car made another ominous noise, jolted forward and then stopped dead at the grassy verge ahead. I tried to start the car again but to no avail. I hit the steering wheel in frustration.

“Better get out, she’s knackered.” I jumped out of the car over the door without bothering to open it.

I opened his door and with a huff he climbed out of the passenger seat in his usual sophisticated, snobbish manner and stood awkwardly on the grass staring at the car with utter contempt. He was so tall, the master, that he never seemed to know what to do with his arms and stood like a praying mantis, watching me as I lifted the bonnet.

“Do you know what you’re doing?” he asked.

I acted for a brief moment like I did, placing my hands on my hips after rolling up my sleeves and muttering something about engines. In truth I hadn’t a clue. 

“Sorry, I don’t know what’s wrong with her. Think we’re gonna be a bit late now though.”

“Suits me,” he said, folding his arms. “I never wanted to go in the first place.”

“It’s getting dark soon. You want to just sit here all night then?”

With a sigh of exasperation, he slumped to the floor. “Well, what do we do then? Is there a telephone anywhere nearby?”

“No phones ‘round here. No house for a mile or two and even then, doubt they’d have one. Suppose we’ll have to walk the rest of the way.” I looked to the map in the car, trying to catch my bearings and then I glanced at the sign post but the words were faded and unreadable. “I’d say we’re a few miles away. We could walk it. We’ll be late but it’s better than never. And then we can get someone to help us fetch the car to a garage tomorrow.”

He sighed. “Walk several miles now?”

“It’s nothing, and you’re wearing casuals. It’s a nice evening. Stars will be out soon, could be good.”

“Do you always see the positive in things, Jack?”

“Come on, Monty, help me fetch the luggage.”

“Suppose you want me to carry that too?”

“Well I can’t carry it all myself. You either help or we leave it here to be nicked.”

He grabbed one of the bags begrudgingly. “Oh, very well. I suppose the walk will be better than the dinner and dancing.” He took a deep breath. “But it’s too dark to see, how are we going to navigate our way?”

I reached into my bag and pulled out a torch. “You don’t think I came unprepared, did you?”

“Yes.”

“Well I’m not. A manservant thinks of all eventualities.”

“Except the car breaking down.”

“I’m not a mechanic.”

…

If you didn’t witness the sight of the master and I each with a bag, treading that lonely country road to the big house that awaited us, you’d never believe it happened. We didn’t half look funny, for you would never have guessed who was the master and who was the servant in that situation. After a while we were both dishevelled, both wearing similar clothes, both complaining of aching feet. The master’s curly hair was falling into his face under his hat and he, like me, had rolled up his shirt sleeves and loosened his tie. 

“I need to take a rest,” he said breathlessly. 

I was much fitter and so not as weary but even I was starting to lag. “Alright, we’ll sit for a moment on this tree trunk.”

He gladly obliged and we sat next to each other on the trunk looking up at the now black sky covered with an array of glittering stars. I didn’t tell him my observations but beyond the beauty of the twinkling lights there was a mass of black cloud behind it, ready to envelope us like a swarm of angry bees. I hoped the rain would hold off. I turned the torch on for a brief second and shone it at him as though he was under interrogation.

“What you thinking?”

He shoved the torch away so I turned it off.

“Aren’t they glorious?” Monty said.

“What?”

“The stars. I never take time to appreciate them.”

“Yeah well you can’t see them in your room with the curtains closed.”

“No, I suppose not. Do you like star gazing, Jack?”

“I do as a matter of fact. Don’t know any of the names or nothing but I like to look out my little window sometimes, just sort of stare at them like and wonder if I made a wish, well…would it come true.”

“Does it?”

“Does it what?”

“Come true?”

I smirked. “I’m working for you so I don’t think so.”

I couldn’t see his face well but his voice sounded low and disappointed. “Is it so bad, working for me?”

“It’s not you personally. I shouldn’t really say this to you, should I?”

“There’s a lot of things you shouldn’t say to me and yet…”

“It’s a good position for me but it’s not the adventure I had in mind. I mean I’m content in some ways.”

“But you pictured something else?”

“Travelling would be good.”

Monty laughed. “Bet you didn’t picture this kind of travelling?”

“No, this is a new one for me.”

“I never wanted to travel myself. Don’t get me wrong, I like being in other places but the getting there...”

“You should try travelling as a working-class person.”

“Could we for one conversation, while we’re out here in this beautiful night, not be separated by our birth and status? Can we not just be two men side by side?”

I looked at him but he couldn’t see me. “Sorry. Yeah, if you like.”

We were quiet then for a few moments, feeling the early evening chill set in and I think we were both contemplating life and nature and not really wanting to venture to the ball. Even if the Fairy Godmother had arrived with a coach of four white horses, I don’t think I’d have rushed to climb inside. I knew Monty felt the same. He’d have been happy to sit there forever as long as he had someone to wait on him. 

“So, this poetry bug you’ve caught,” he suddenly said. “Written any yourself?”

“Might have.”

“Any good?”

“No idea.” I pulled out a few sheets of crumpled paper from my trouser pocket. There were ink stains all over it and the handwriting was atrocious. I turned on the torch and shone it on the paper. 

“Let me see.”

I hesitated. He was so educated and I had left school at thirteen years old. “Alright but bear in mind I’ve not had your schooling.”

“I wasn’t going to judge. Poetry’s in the soul, Jack, that doesn’t come with academic learning.” He snatched the paper away and I saw his eyes scanning it determinedly in the torch light.

He folded up the paper and handed it back to me.

“Well?”

“You haven’t opened your soul enough.”

I turned away. “What do you know anyway?” I grumbled, forgetting he was my employer again. But it was his fault for insisting we referred to each other by our Christian names. 

“Forget I said anything. If you can’t take a little criticism.”

I snorted. 

“It has potential but I felt you were holding back the emotion.”

Thankfully at that moment I felt a drop of water fall onto my shoulder and then another into my eye as I looked up. At first it was a few spits, nothing to really bother us, but then it was as if the heavens had opened and forced us to get moving. It was relentless— heavy lashings of rain like no other that season— and we began to run down the roadside, our trouser legs soaked in the up splash, our shoes wet through— well mine at least. I had left the umbrellas back in the car and so I placed my jacket over our heads as we made a mad dash to the nearest shelter. The first thing we found was an old house, set back off the road, dirty and shabby, unoccupied but at least it had a roof. There were a few leaky spots but all in all we could dry off there for a bit. 

“Crikey,” Monty said, wringing out the flat cap. “I’m soaked to the bone.”

“Snap.” I took off my shoes and grimaced at my socks which were not only soaked through but full of holes.

“Jonathan Boys, how on earth did you allow your socks to get in such a state?”

I laughed. “Spent all my time darning yours, never had time for my own.”

“Well I command you to do it when we get home. I never ever want to see the sight of your big toe protruding from that ugly sock ever again.”

“I’m sorry it offends you. Can we just light this fire?”

“You’re lighting a fire here?”

“There’s a fireplace and some logs. I just want to warm myself a bit.”

“Who the devil lives here? Are we trespassing?”

“Probably in-between tenants. My parents had a place like this. Don’t worry about it, we’re not doing anyone any harm. You got a light?”

Monty reached into his pocket and pulled out a box of matches, handing them to me. I struck one on the side of the box and lit the fire, holding my cold, wet hands in front of the flames. “Lovely.”

He joined me and then pulled out two cigarettes. He placed one in his own mouth and then one in mine, and at the same time, we leaned down toward the flames and lit our cigarettes, dangerously close to singeing our own eyebrows in the process.

“Well, you’ve definitely missed the ball now,” I said, finding myself a chair. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you sabotaged the car yourself to avoid it.”

He found his own chair and dusted it down with his handkerchief. “I would sabotage the car before we left not after. I’m cold and wet. I could be in a warm house eating nice food instead of here.”

“Or dancing with a pretty girl.”

“I’d still prefer the warm house with a nice glass of brandy.”

“Spare a thought for me. What are your mother and Lady Rosamund gonna say at us being late? I’ll get the blame.”

He waved his hand in the air. “No, no, I’ll tell them the car was to blame. They won’t believe me of course.”

I was careful now, attempting to not upset him—I knew how volatile his relationship with his mother was—but I’d been so curious about it at the same time.

“You and your mother, have you ever been close?”

“I suppose when I was a child we had our moments.” He was quick to draw the conversation to me instead. “And you and your mother?”

“We got along, yeah. She worked really hard. She could be tough don’t get me wrong, slapped me across the arm for talking back, but she was fair. And I put her through it, I don’t mind admitting.”

“I can imagine!” He smirked.

We were silent for several moments before he finally spoke in hushed tones as though someone else could be listening. “You never did tell me about this in-between place?”

“You what?”

“Back at the house, you said if I went out, you’d tell me about this make-believe in-between world where we outcasts could live.”

“Ah that. What makes you think I was telling the truth?”

“But really, Jack, what did you mean?”

“Sort of a fantasy I used to come up with when I was in prison. Got me through the day sometimes. And even afterwards. I was different then. No longer fitted in with my old friends, didn’t like some of the new ones I’d made inside. I felt I was sort of drifting, hovering over everyone, listening to their conversations but never really being part of it.”

“I thought everyone loved you. Jack the popular one, Jack the lad.”

“That’s just one side of me but it gets just as lonely being me. Sure, I know people, greet people with a smile and laugh but that’s just the surface Jack. No one’s ever got down to the Jack underneath.”

“No and your poetry certainly doesn’t.”

I stopped then, thinking I’d let too much slip to my employer.

“I see,” he said, rubbing his chin. “So, this in between place is for those who need an escape?”

“Maybe. It’s just a place where we what don’t fit in can exist on our own terms.”

“I should like a place like that.”

“In this place you won’t feel so much an outcast.”

I glanced at him and in the shadow, half his face was concealed. I couldn’t make out his expression but I suddenly felt vulnerable, as though he was reading my thoughts and wanting to know more about my emotional state. I quickly made my way to the window and noticed the raindrops were now falling lightly upon the pane, no longer the torrential downpour it had been when we’d been outside. It was much like our relationship. It had been a stormy start when I had arrived at Linksfield but slowly the sun was beginning to shine upon us. I turned back to look at Monty who was wriggling his fingers over the flames.

“We could brave it soon. It’s dying down out there,” I said.

…

I’ll not bore you with the details of our trek from the house to the grand country estate but I shall say it took us about half an hour to walk in the drizzle and that by the time we got there we were exhausted. Exquisite cars lined the premises and when we trudged up the leafy path, we must have looked like two tramps trying to find lodgings for the night. To make it worse, as we arrived by the front entrance, I noticed that the dining party of about thirty from the ball were all socialising on the patio area, shielded from weather by a veranda and all wearing an assortment of colourful elaborate masks. We’d have to walk past them to get inside the house.

“Golly!” Monty said, noticing the crowd. “They’re all outside and they all look terrifying. One of those masks is a bat.”

“I think we better enter by the servant’s entrance,” I said but as I was about to lead him to the safety of the back of the house, we heard a shrill woman’s voice shouting at us.

“Yoo hoo! Clement! Boys! Is that you?” It was Lady Rosamund, clutching a pair of opera glasses in her hands. She then placed the glasses over her delicate white lacy mask and examined us carefully.

Suddenly, before we had the chance to escape there were dozens of eyes beneath masks gawping at us like we were the prize cows at the county show. I glanced at Monty. I’d never seen his cheeks so red. If only he’d been wearing his own mask!

And then a crowd was by our side, mouths gaped open, some laughing at the two of us, soaked to the bone, hair pasted to our heads, mud on our cheeks. I felt like an utter fool.

“Clement!” Rosamund was at his side, fussing. “What happened?”

I looked to their mother and I had never seen such an expression of utter shame. Honestly the woman needed her head examined if her son being wet was an embarrassment to her. She could’ve had me as a son and watched as the police dragged me away for stealing. Oh, how my mother wept that day! Really Monty wasn’t such a disappointment and I can’t believe I was even thinking that. My earlier self would never have thought such a thing.

“Our darned car broke down,” Monty said. “Boys tried his best to fix it but he’s not a mechanic. We had to walk.”

“Sir was adamant about making the ball,” I interjected. 

There was silence for a moment, an excruciating pause before several women began cooing over Monty as if he were a bird with an injured wing.

“Oh, you poor brave little puppy,” one of the women said— a rather beautiful lady— and she took his arm. “We must get you warm by the fire.”

“Oh, you little lamb!” said another as she stroked his damp hair. 

A third beautiful woman said he was like a little mouse desperate for cheese. What was it with the animal comparisons? 

I, meanwhile was left standing there, shivering, with no attention whatsoever. The only person who came to my rescue was Lady Rosamund who stood next to me, devouring me with her eyes again.

“You should take those clothes off,” she said, “I mean, dry yourself off.”

“Yes M’Lady.” I turned to leave. She held me back. 

“Thank you for looking after him, Boys.”

She was extremely thankful that her brother was well and as soon as I had helped Monty into a bath, I joined the other servants before at last I put Monty to bed. As I began to leave, he gripped my arm.

“I’ll not forget our adventure, Jack,” he said. “Not in all my life.”

I smiled and he didn’t say another word. I bid him goodnight and relished in the comfort of sleep in the bed down the hall after a long-needed bath of course. The next day was to be a long day of fetching the car, calling a mechanic, and making the journey home. By the time we had completed this, both the master and I were too tired to converse with one another and I chuckled to myself as I looked over at him in the passenger seat, curled up with his blazer over him like a blanket, asleep and snoring lightly. The adventure we shared really had taken it out of him. Aside from the fight several weeks ago, this was the most exertion he’d had in years.

Back at the familiar surroundings of Linksfield, I was so glad to be greeted by Doris below stairs who poured me a welcoming cup of black tea as I told her and the others what had happened with the car.

Frank suggested it was my fault for attempting to deviate from his recommended route whilst Doris was cooing over me the way the women of Monty’s class had done for him though neglecting to name me after any sort of cute animal.

“I’m alright, Doris, don’t worry.”

“You could’ve caught a chill.”

“But I didn’t. Honestly, we got there in one piece. I had a nice bath, great night’s kip. Apart from feeling a little weary from travelling and the business with the mechanic, I’m feeling well.”

Doris smiled and scurried from the room whilst Mrs. Orwell waved her handkerchief at me.

“You must let that girl fuss, Mr. Boys, she’s got quite a soft spot for you. And she’s wanting your attention is all.”

I rubbed my eyes, letting out a yawn. “Don’t be daft.”

“You’re a clueless man, Mr. Boys. You’re the handsome older man, a bit of a rascal I might add. It’s only natural you should turn her head.”

“Bloody hell, I never thought.”

True I never had. Honestly, lovely Doris being interested in me rather than Frank who suited her so much more, well the world was a strange old place. 

“Wish you aint told me that,” I said. “Don’t know what to say to her now.”

Mrs. Orwell laughed. “You young things and your problems! Off with you, Boys. The master will be wanting his milky tea. And here you are with your feet up!”

“The master can jolly well wait.” I placed my cup onto the saucer.

“I don’t know how you get away with your cheek. Lord knows the last man…he who shall not be named…didn’t get away with half so much and he was got rid.”

“He what disappeared into the night like a phantom?”

I laughed and tried to take another sip of my tea when she wrenched the cup from my hands, poured the rest down the sink and tapped my bottom with the wooden spoon to get me moving. I saluted at her and made my way upstairs.

…

When I entered the master’s bedroom, I strangely found it was empty. I next looked in the study. It was also empty. After searching nearly every room in the entire household, I was beginning to think something peculiar had happened until I heard a gentle whistling coming from my attic room. I climbed slowly until I reached the top of the stairs and stood outside my door, listening to the sound of the whistling, realising it wasn’t the wind, wasn’t my imagination, wasn’t the ghost of the previous manservant— it was my employer. I recognised the tune he was whistling. Sir whistled that every morning on one of his good days. Monty was in my room.

“Sir?” I peered my head around the doorframe tentatively to find him sitting on the bed, holding a box in his hands.

“Ah there you are, Jack.”

“What are you doing in here?” I asked with suspicion.

“I do own it remember?”

“You don’t own me.”

“Heaven forbid! No, I have a gift for you before you start lecturing me about ownership of property or rights of workers.” 

My eyebrow rose. “A gift? What for?”

“Need there be a reason? But anyway, I thought of something and wanted to show my appreciation for your efforts.”

I stood motionless, looking at the door, wondering whether to flee. I’d never been given a present before by an employer and I was absolutely terrible at accepting gifts.

“What is it?”

“Open it and find out.” He shoved a small box into my hands.

I opened the lid and peered inside to where a small bronze telescope lay next to a leather carry case. I ran my fingers over the bronze and admired the craftsmanship of such an item. I don’t think I’d ever held anything so grand or something I wouldn’t have flogged in an instant. 

“Where did it come from?”

“It was mine but I’d like you to have it. You do a lot more looking at the stars than me. I thought you’d give it some use from way up here.”

“I don’t know what to say.”

“Say thank you.”

“Thanks. I’m not sure I should accept.”

“Tough. I’m not taking it back. You made sure I got to that party in one piece and you mended my Ted, so it’s just returning the favour. In fact, if you don’t accept it, I’ll sack you.”

“Yes Sir!”

He nodded and left the room and I stood there, mouth open, shocked and surprised. I walked to the window, held the telescope to my eye and peered out, glancing at the night sky. The stars were wonderful, though not as prominent as they had been in the middle of that country lane. But nevertheless, how they shone and sparkled, how it felt they were calling to me from above. If only I could travel to such a place and look down upon the earth, trying to figure out what the plan was and then disobey it.

But for now, the stars were out of reach, my life had another destination and little did I realise at that moment that Linksfield was to be my home for the rest of my days.


	5. Tug of War

Out of my attic window I could see Clement Montgomery walking toward the house, lost in his thoughts, in a complete trance, not even noticing that one car that drove past him and nearly clipped his legs. It was a peculiar sight, for the master hadn’t ventured outside in weeks, since our last ‘adventure’ in fact, and if he hadn’t been forced out by his mother to attend an important meeting at the bank then no doubt he’d have stayed inside for much longer.

Looking through my telescope I could see him more clearly as I adjusted the lens to spy on him. His shoulders were low and his head downward, still in that trance and trudging as though not noticing the rain that fell upon him or the splashes of water that soaked his ankles from stepping through muddy puddles.

I left my telescope and ran downstairs, greeting him on arrival and taking off his wet coat. I looked him up and down with judgement. “Where on earth is your umbrella?”

He gave me an exasperated sigh and I swear I was beginning to tell the difference between the various grunts. This must have been his ‘Don’t bother me’ grunt.

“A young lady was looking rather worse for wear in the downpour so I gave her mine,” he answered finally.

I smiled. “That was very nice of you.”

“Was it?” 

“No umbrella and no hat?”

“Forgot it.”

“You had it on when you left, Sir.”

“Did I? Left the darned thing behind then. Mother went in the car. I fancied a walk.”

“In the rain?”

“Need I explain?”

He ran his fingers through his wet hair and attempted to untangle a curly knot.

“Come on, let’s get you out of those wet clothes and into something comfortable.”

“Honestly don’t make such a fuss, Jack.”

“Sorry. I’m only making sure you’re alright.”

“Can we not talk right now? I don’t feel like it.”

I nodded. “Whatever you wish.”

And he was like that for the remainder of the day, moody and reclusive, hiding in his room, heavy curtains drawn, shutting out the world that had decided to shut him out. But the consequence was that it was me he took it out on with his snidey remarks, the harsh tone in which he spoke to me, the orders he barked. When he was in such a mood, it was hard to believe he even liked me at all and it felt like our previous antics in the pub and with the broken-down car had meant nothing.

It was with relief then that he went to bed early and I took the opportunity to sneak to the pub for a much-needed drink. Granted, I shouldn’t have ventured too far in case the master needed me, but if I hadn’t, I’m sure I’d have either quit in some verbal argument or I’d have throttled him in his sleep.

…

I took solace in the sanctuary of the pub that evening, at a table by myself with a large beer and my troubles left back at Linksfield. I had only taken a few sips of my beverage when the barmaid, Amy, appeared at the table, greeting me with a large smile. She sat opposite.

“How are you, Jack? Haven’t seen you in weeks.”

“Not too bad, Amy, not too bad.” It was bad but who ever said so to others? “How’s your old dad’s feet doing?”

“Better.” I could sense her watching me. “You look like you have the weight of the world on your shoulders.”

“Nah, it’s just work.”

“You work at Linksfield don’t you? Right creepy place that. As a kid, my brother told me and my sister it was haunted.”

I laughed. It certainly felt haunted with Monty roaming around like a phantom.

“I’ve heard the master there can be a prickly old goat.”

I smirked.

“Stuffy recluse they say,” she continued. “Still that’s their sort, isn’t it? Not like us eh? Speaking of like us, what happened to your mate Monty, the real good-looking one with the lovely curls?”

I couldn’t stop smiling. How she could be so smitten by the man she’d been insulting two seconds earlier! 

“He’s moved away,” I lied.

Her smile turned to a frown and she placed her worn and tired hands under her chin. “Shame that. He was a gent. And you two seemed very close; proper mates.”

My eyebrow rose as I gulped some of my drink. “Really?” Was that honestly the way she had perceived our relationship? Mates? Not me under duress? 

“Well, you took care of him like. And he seemed to hang on your every word.”

If only she knew the truth of our working life!

“Well, if I’m honest, been thinking of moving on myself.”

“You want out the service game?”

“Don’t know, restless I suppose. Sometimes I quite like it, you know, aside from the orders and all that. But, speaking of which, you heard about me asking for work here? Has Bill thought more to my application?”

“Oh, that’s right, you asked Bill for work behind the bar. You sure you want to go from sophisticated house with your own room, fancy suit and respectful people to a dirty place full of drunks?”

“I understand the drunks!”

“Good point. I’ll have a word with him, see if he’s given it any thought. It’d be nice if we could work together, I suppose. I’ll say that.”

“Suppose? I’ve made such an impression on you, Amy.”

“Well, you’re a charming devil but you’re no Monty, are you?” She laughed.

I had a couple more drinks with Amy and some of the local punters and we drank long into the night and that couple of drinks wasn’t a couple at all and I was a filthy liar. By the time I snuck back to Linksfield and into the servants’ entrance, I was feeling guilty that I’d disobeyed Monty in such a fashion. As soon as I entered the kitchen, I heard someone shuffling about and then a light was switched on and blinding me. To my surprise and relief it was Frank.

“Jack!” he said, looking me over. I think I may have been swaying but I can’t be sure of that fact. “You’ve been out drinking?” he said. 

I fell onto one of the chairs. “I know, I know. Could I ask you to keep this a secret?”

“Of course, I’d never betray ya, but won’t sir notice?”

I smiled. “Probably. What are you doing up at this time anyway?”

He picked his book up from the table. “Left my novel in here. Couldn’t sleep so thought I’d do some reading.”

“Is that the one you and Doris are discussing?”

His cheeks reddened at the mere mention of her name.

“Pretty isn’t she?” I said, nudging him. “Take a chance mate, life don’t offer many on its own.”

I think the only time I’d offered my ridiculous romantic advice was when I was drunk. Stone-cold sober and the chances of me speaking of matters of the heart were nil. I’d been the same way since I was fourteen, only confessing when I was inebriated. It honestly got me into trouble a fair-few -times and now it had me waxing lyrically about wanting the maid to have a romance with the footman.

“She only has eyes for you, Jack,” Frank said.

“A passing fancy, she’ll get over it. She ought to see me now, drunk as a skunk, put her right off.”

“I’m not so sure. I think it’s the rebel in you that she likes. Me, I’m not a rebel in the slightest.”

I placed my arm on his shoulder. “Don’t be daft, you have great qualities. And believe me, I wish I wasn’t so rebellious sometimes, so impulsive and obtuse. It’s only got me into trouble.”

“That’s true. Speaking of which, you better get some sleep and sober up before morning. We’ve got the local fair to plan, Jack, don’t wanna be too ill to organise.”

“Forgot about that. You’re right, I’ll head up. Thanks Frank.”

He nodded and I struggled my way up the many stairs, careful to be as quiet as mouse but tempted to be as loud as an elephant, relishing in the danger of being caught. I was convinced the job at the pub was mine anyway and if it was, I no longer had to worry about the many rules of service. I could be free from the shackles and the weird presence of that household. Monty’s hold over me, over my criminal activities needn’t be an issue and I could find my own place to live.

When I reached the top of the stairs, I lost my footing on the rug and stumbled in the hall outside the master’s room. I swore. How stupid. I saw the light come on from under the doorframe and there he stood a moment later, in the entrance, looking down upon me with a disapproving air. His hair was a mess and he wore a dressing gown done up awkwardly over silk pyjamas.

“Boys? Are you quite well?”

I slowly got to my feet but the room was spinning. “Sorry, Sir, yes, I’m fine. Just a bit wobbly, bit of a headache. Went to get a powder from downstairs.”

“You’re not…drunk then?” His eyebrow rose.

“No, no, nothing like that.”

“Go to bed, Boys, and for goodness sakes, be more presentable in the morning.”

…

I was as presentable as I possibly could be the next morning, save for the fact that I could do nothing to disguise the bleary eyes that greeted me when I glanced at my reflection in the bathroom mirror. Hideous. Mrs. Orwell too was hissing at me for my haggardly appearance and when I saw the master he was as frosty as an early winter.

I dressed him in silence and he scarcely looked at me, the both of us barely exchanging two words during our morning routine. I knew I’d snuck out of the house; I knew I’d lied and had too much to drink but I was starting to wonder if my rebellious act was really my heart telling me that I wasn’t suited to the servant lifestyle anymore, not that I really ever was. 

When the post arrived that morning, I stood chatting to the postman Henry about the football. It took my mind off things for a while to have a regular conversation and Henry was such a nice chap, the sort you’d have a laugh with and so very down to earth. I could talk for hours with ‘Henry’ types if I decided to leave service. I could abandon the upper-classes and instead serve regular people like myself, bringing them drinks so they could forget about life’s struggles once in a while. They needed those drinks more than the ‘Monty’s’ did. Those grafters needed an escape from the daily grind. 

When I was engrossed in the conversation with Henry, I looked up at the window and there my master stood, his face obscured by the morning light steaming through that window. But I knew it was him and I knew he was there for his presence always felt like a lingering ghost afraid to cross over to what awaited him on the other side. When I thought about it deeply, Henry types needed their drinks to drown their sorrows for life’s hardships but I supposed Monty’s lot had troubles too, troubles of another kind maybe, completely different to ours, but they were troubles all the same. For Monty it was certainly the case. He had everything and he was just as confused and messed up as I was.

Finally, Henry broke me from my thoughts and placed a letter into my palm. I recognised the scruffy handwriting and realised it was from the ‘Brothers in Arms’ pub. This was the moment. This was clearly telling me whether I had been accepted, whether I had options. I tore open the letter, bidding Henry the postie farewell and walked into the servants’ hallway for privacy. There, alone, I scoured the letter contents, reading the words not once but twice to make sure I had read correctly. And yes, I had been right. I had been offered the job of barman and I had three days to decide— three days to take the offer or the job would be passed over— three days to think and wonder what my future would be if I accepted.

I hadn’t told Bill or Amy of my criminal past either. I was becoming good at erasing it from all I did, not keen to be judged by it forever. But another job, another lie, more change. What would I do? I had some serious considering. Despite the hesitation, a smile found my lips, for the news that I had a choice did not make me unhappy. 

“Good news, Jack?” Doris asked as she entered the room with Frank, both carrying identical books.

“Maybe.” I left it at that and carefully folded the letter into my pocket. “So, book club meeting is it today?” 

They both nodded.

“You two have so much in common,” I added. I was so determined to convince Doris that her future lay with Frank and certainly not with unreliable and unpredictable Jonathan Boys.

…

The next day was the day of the village fair, the day of the year where the wider community gathered to enjoy all that was good about the season. Old and young, rich and poor— gathered together to have fun celebrating everything that made where we lived— home. Luckily the sun had graced us after a dreadfully rainy week and from the moment the servants arrived to help set up some of the stalls at Prudence’s request, people were laughing and joking which instantly put me at ease.

I arrived back at Linksfield mid-morning to help Monty change into suitable attire which for this occasion meant a cream suit and matching sun hat. After the shave and crisp summer clothing I dressed him in, he did scrub up rather well and I glanced over him proudly, honoured that it was my choice of outfit he had agreed upon.

“Good letter?” he said as he glanced at his reflection in the mirror.

I appeared behind him. “Excuse me?”

“The postman handed you a letter and you seemed rather eager for it. Expecting important news?”

I hesitated. Should I tell him of my offer? I decided against it. Why should I worry about it? I wanted to enjoy the fair and not have to spend all day pondering. 

“We’ll see,” was all I replied and left it at that but he gave me a glance of knowing that I was keeping things from him.

“I really can’t believe you talked me into this,” he said, letting out a tiny smile.

“You mean talked you into joining your household for some fun? Why must you be persuaded to spend time with people you live with?”

“It’s not them I’m doing it for. I’m doing it for you, Jack. You have a way of convincing me to do anything. It’s your main power.”

I looked at him, quite surprised that I had any influence over these things. “Don’t be daft. You’re doing it for you, you wally. You don’t have fun for my sake, you do it for yours because you want it. Even you deserve a little bit of a laugh.”

“My servants don’t want to see me there and don’t call me a wally.”

“Course they do, Monty. They want to see you there to feel like you’re just one of them.”

His eyebrow rose. “Do they?”

“Shut up and get moving.”

“Boys!”

…

We both stood on the freshly cut grass, standing in the full sun, looking around at the vibrancy of the fair— colours everywhere, food stalls aplenty, a carousel, children laughing and people full of the joys of life. It was a welcome break from the slog of work.

“Well, off you go, Jack,” Monty said, pushing me away. “You go and find your companions. I’ll entertain myself.”

“What will you do?” I asked, half-wondering if the minute my back was turned, he’d shoot off into the bushes like a startled deer.

“I’ll do what I do best, sit quietly and observe.”

I believed that. He was definitely one of life’s observers, always glancing through windows and silently watching the world. I reluctantly left him there but as I met up with Frank, Doris and Mary Boyle I kept looking back at him as he grabbed a cup of tea from a stall and made himself comfortable on a chair under a tree in the shade. I smiled when I saw another lady and gentleman had joined him. At least he had company and I was free to mingle without fear of abandoning him.

I suggested a ride on the carousel, and on we went, clutching our wooden golden horses as we whizzed around. Mine and Monty’s personalities were perfectly described at this moment— Monty quiet and living in the shade of life, in the shadow of others, keeping still and unassuming. And then me on the fast lane, clinging onto excitement and danger as life spun out of control around me. I tried to spot my master as life blurred past but he was just a blend of cream and green and as I was able to focus my eyes, he was gone. I looked around for him at first but couldn’t find him.

“You seen the master?” I asked Doris as we climbed off the horses and I tried not to laugh at the sight of Frank heaving into the bushes.

“You’re always so worried about him, it’s sweet,” she said, linking her arm through mine. “He said to enjoy yourself, didn’t he? Why don’t you try and take his advice, you could win me something on the coconut shy?”

“Hmm? Oh alright.” I turned around and the tall figure of Frank, wiping his mouth with a handkerchief, glanced at me, shifting awkwardly, sensing that to Doris he was the third wheel and not I. Mary Boyle had already disappeared for some cake with Mrs. Orwell so it was the awkward ‘three’s a crowd’ moment.

“I’ll leave you to it,” he said sadly, scurrying off to drown his sorrows in some lemonade. I felt terrible.

“Now we can be alone,” Doris said. “Please Jack, will you try and win me something?”

I don’t like to boast but I was a dab hand at throwing a ball so I was sure I could hit the odd coconut and win Doris a prize. The only problem was, did I win to boost my own ego and so she could have a lovely gift or did I do it half-assed so she wouldn’t see me as her strong, brave knight in shining armour? I opted for doing my best. Didn’t want to seem I was faking it and so I launched the ball and on first go I missed spectacularly. On the second try, I hit it, and Doris was treated to the prize of a stuffed animal. I felt quite proud of my achievement and seeing Doris’ beaming smile wasn’t too bad either. If only she could have looked upon me as a friend wanting to see her happy rather than the man of her dreams trying to woo her.

But that was a problem for another day. As the fair drew to a close, I started to think about my decision again. I didn’t have long. Would I leave Linksfield for adventures new or would I stay with the people I’d come to know and understand? I was torn. I was being pulled in two directions by craving the new and a fresh start and wanting to remain loyal with some kind of roots and security. As I grew older, the desire to remain in one place was definitely stronger and I suspected as middle-age reared its ugly head, it would appear even more so. But why was I so conflicted? Why did I crave adventure and excitement but at the same time so desperately need to belong?

I was so wrapped up in my own thoughts about the decisions I’d have to make that I didn’t see Monty standing beside me, hadn’t noticed Frank whisking Doris away for lemonade, and hadn’t spotted Amy waving at me from behind the food stall.

Monty nudged me. “Jack, are you quite alright? You seem a little away with the fairies? And I can assure you that’s usually my job.”

“Monty, there you are. I was wondering where you got to.”

“I was having a pleasant conversation with a couple who live in one of the manor houses in the area.”

“Ah so you could say you’re enjoying yourself? Good to get outside isn’t it?”

He took a deep breath. “I think I am enjoying it somewhat. And what about you? I saw you winning something for young Doris. Seems you have a good throw there, Jack, ever tried your luck at cricket?”

“Never played it.”

“I suspect you’d be pretty good.”

“More of a football fan if I’m honest.”

We were interrupted suddenly by Amy the barmaid who grabbed a glass of lemonade from the table beside us and downed it in one go. “Shame it’s not something stronger.”

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

“Men!”

Monty and I exchanged amused glances as she took another lemonade and drank it hastily as if it were liquor.

“Amy, this is my master, Clement Montgomery.”

“Oh.” Amy suddenly stood upright, her cheeks flushing and she then attempted an awkward curtesy. 

Monty shook his head. “Please, young lady, no need for such formalities here.”

“You look awfully familiar,” she said, standing up and leaning in close to him, gazing him up and down with an examining eye.

I could tell instantly that Monty was uncomfortable with such a level of intimacy.

“You’ve probably seen him around.” I said quickly. “But never mind that, what’s this about men that has you scowling?”

“Probably best you don’t know.” She eyed up Monty and then frowned. “If you must know, my man is a lazy good-for-nothing. He promised me I could ogle him doing the tug of war but he’s been on the scotch and now he can barely stand up. Bet you two would be good at it though eh?”

“I’ve already got a team together actually,” I told her.

“Well some men know their duty to us ladies. Good luck, Jack, sure you’ll do well. I’ll keep an eye out for you later. Better go, find him indoors.”

When she left, Monty grabbed my arm. “Are you really competing in a raucous tug of war with some friends?”

“No.”

“Oh.”

“No, I mean you misunderstood me. I am competing but… so are you.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Don’t tell me you’re afraid?”

“I am afraid, Jack. My hands were not made for such activities.”

I reached out and took his hand, palm upwards, and then I tutted at it. “I can see that. I can also see you have a laughter line here. But it’s very very small.”

He wrenched his hand away but I could see he was trying to hide a smile. “Your life line is strangely getting smaller by the minute,” he retorted.

…

He wasn’t smiling as we stood on the grass shortly after, two teams facing each other ready for the battle of the rope as though it was real war. Frank, the tallest, was at the back with Monty in front of him. Then it was me, Henry the postie, and the local delivery boy Jimmy. Finally, little Doris stood right at the front, adding a bit of glamour but also scrappiness to the proceedings. 

We had the whole household as spectators too— Mrs. Orwell with Boyle, Monty’s mother and sister also standing there, fanning themselves in the afternoon sun. Monty had not spotted them and I was glad because if he’d known they were watching he’d have run for the hills. Instead he took off his hat and jacket, rolled up his shirt sleeves and grabbed the rope, holding it between his smooth hands. In comparison my hands were leathery, tanned and keenly ready to pull. Looking at the master, I could see he suddenly stood upright and eager, focused and determined on his goal.

Heave. Heave. Back and forth we went. The whole team yanked that rope with all the strength we could muster and after a few good minutes of what appeared to be a stalemate and a minor moment when we thought we’d lost Doris to the giant puddle in front, we gave a final heave and the other team were pulled into the puddle leaving themselves wet and us dry and victorious. We all whooped and cheered, kissed cheeks and shook hands. I clasped Monty’s hand and shook it vigorously. 

“Good show, Sir. You’re stronger than you look.”

“I rowed at Oxford you know?”

“Glad to hear it. Well done all!” I said as though the captain of our team. 

I was handed a small cup by an official and kissed it enthusiastically. I then handed it to each of my team who passed it around as though they’d won a world tournament rather than a local contest. Finally, Monty held the cup in his hands, raised it in the air and let out a joyful smile full of pride. His gentle laugh in turn made me laugh and it would’ve remained that way had he not spotted his mother walking towards us and promptly dropped the award onto the floor, the smile disappearing from his face.

“Mother?!”

“Clement, what are you doing?”

Monty’s eyes rolled upwards. “Put on your spectacles, Mother, it’s quite obvious.”

“There is no need to take that tone, Clement. If you must know, I came to congratulate you and the staff. One does not generally approve of these vulgar contests except when one wins.”

I think that was a compliment. It was the most I’d ever heard her praise him anyway. And as quickly as she’d appeared, she had left, dragging poor Mary Boyle behind her.

“Bloody hell,” I said, noticing Monty’s trousers which were grass stained and filthy. “We need to get you out of these clothes, I mean, into some clean clothes, Sir.” I hadn’t planned for him to be in the tug of war and now I was going to have to spend a time getting his clothes cleaned. Another impulse that had consequences for me.

“But Boys, what another adventure we’ve had eh what?”

I smiled and then it dawned on me. Would this be Monty’s last adventure with me? The fair had made me quite forget that I had a big decision to make and now like the tug of war, I was being pulled by my own mind into different directions, suddenly unable to decide what was best for me, best for Monty, and best for the future.

…

I couldn’t concentrate on anything back at Linksfield— and when Monty did something completely unusual by inviting the servants to share a celebratory drink with him in his private study— my head was spinning with confusion. One moment I was adamant I wanted to leave, the next moment I was determined to stay. If he had even only glimpses of good spirits then it proved he was better with positive influence and if I could be a positive influence even just once or twice then surely it was worth it wasn’t it? But at what cost and would I live to regret it?

I was determined to go the pub the next morning and tell them my decision. That meant I had the rest of the evening and all night to ponder and consider all the pros and cons. It certainly meant a sleepless night. I had never in my life taken such care in a life choice, normally rushing in without thought or plan. But things were changing. I was changing. 

…

As I dressed Monty for bed, I caught a glimpse of his hands which had sore rope burns upon them. Next to his arm scars, it looked quite the sight. I couldn’t do much about the self-inflicted injuries but I could help with the hands.

“You’ve concealed these from me?” I said pointing at them. “Why hide the rope burns, battle scars they are.”

He laughed. “You seemed like you had a lot on your mind. And I’m quite alright, Jack, I’ll sort them out.”

I grabbed his hands. “Nah, I’ve got some proper cream for that. Believe me, years of rough hands, rope burn. I used to work down the docks when I left school. Trust me, I know how to have your hands back to normal.”

“Very well.” He let me lead him to the bathroom where I reached into the medicine cabinet and pulled out the cream. 

“You worked at the docks?” he asked.

“Yeah I’ve done all kinds of jobs.”

“Jack of all trades eh?” He chuckled. It wasn’t particularly funny but I’d so rarely seen him laugh, it was a nice surprise.

I applied the cream to his hands and rubbed into his skin, attempting to be as gentle as possible. He winced.

“Jack?”

“Yes?”

“I wanted to say thank you.”

I nearly dropped the pot of cream that I was now screwing the lid upon. “What for?”

“For getting me outside. For making me do the stupid tug of war. For all of it really.” He suddenly looked away. “It’s nice to be friends with my manservant. The last chap…. Well, we didn’t get on. He didn’t like me. We are friends, aren’t we Jack?”

I hesitated. Could we ever really be true friends the way I was pals with Henry, Amy, or Frank?

“If you like.” I was unable to confirm it.

“Wonder what our next adventure will be?” he said.

“Don’t count on all that, Monty, that was just one day. A fun one but just a normal day, nothing spectacular.”

“To me it was.” Monty smiled. “Every day is different and then you make me go on an adventure and somehow…”

“I don’t make you do anything. And why do you have to rely on me? Why does it have to be me? Why my responsibility?”

I sounded harsh in my tone and he took his hands away. I don’t even know why I was so angry.

“I never commanded it. If that’s how you feel, forget I said anything.”

“I’m sorry. I’m tired.”

“I never asked you to take responsibility, Jack, just to do your job. You’re impossible.”

“So are you.”

“Nobody is making you stay here; in fact, I’m keeping you on despite your past.”

“No, you’re right, nobody is making me.”

I felt my fists clenching but then I caught the sight of his dejected expression and honestly guilt swept over me like a tidal wave. I wasn’t sure why my emotions were so charged whenever I was around him. Maybe it was another sign that we clashed like thunder and lightning. 

…

I arrived at the pub the next morning on my day off and sat at the bar as Amy and Bill greeted me with friendly smiles, waiting for my answer. 

“Alright, Jack,” Bill said. “I know why you’re here. Go on then.”

I smiled. “Yeah it’s been a hard decision.”

“To work here in this pub?” Amy asked.

“No, no, it’s not that. I like you all here, this place, the punters, the work is fine but… I’m declining the offer, I’m sorry.”

Even I was surprised I said it. All the way there I had been telling myself to take it.

“Well if that’s what you want,” Bill replied. “Shame though, punters like ya.”

“Thanks. I’ve considered all areas and no doubt as with most of my life choices, I’ll probably regret it.” I laughed. “But Linksfield for all its fault is my home now and I feel it’s where I ought to be. No, you know, not just ought but I kind of like being there. The home part anyway. The people, you know? It’s like for all the fetching and carrying and being at someone’s beck and call, the other side aint so bad. That below stairs camaraderie. The thought of leaving it when I’ve just got started well it makes me a bit sad.”

“Jack Boys, you made a heartfelt speech!” Amy teased.

“Watch it Amy. Just because I’m not going to be working here, doesn’t mean I won’t be in here a lot, spying and criticising. I can get you back for a sarky comment like that.” I teased.

“Cheeky bugger. Maybe your master isn’t so bad after all then eh?”

I smiled. “No. He’s not so bad really.”

She began to pour a pint and suddenly her smile fell. “Hold on. Your master I met yesterday…he looks just like your mate Monty. The curly hair, pale skin and those dreamy green eyes. He’s not…he’s not the same bloke?”

I tried not to laugh. “Can you keep a secret?”


	6. Stranger in the Fog

I glanced at a photograph of my siblings every night before I went to bed, staring at the faces in sepia, scared that if I didn’t, I’d forget what they looked like. How young we were then, how life had not tarnished us or beaten us with its cruel hand. It hadn’t touched us with the wonders of life either and we had so much to learn. Growing up we were like most brothers and sisters, fighting constantly but having each-others backs when the occasion called for it. I hadn’t seen my eldest brother Joseph for the longest of all— five years in fact— so imagine my surprise when I saw him sitting at the table of the servants’ quarters one ordinary morning. There was a cup of strong black tea in front of him and a slice of marmalade toast and he was happily munching away whilst all the servants sat around him as though he were a specimen at a laboratory or worse…royalty. Listening to his voice, I smiled. I’d almost forgotten how gentle it was and how all the traces of the working man’s accent had been lost with time.

“Jack!” he said as he saw me. His eyes were warm and sparkling.

“Joe!” I skipped over and embraced him in a hug whilst he was still seated. “Why didn’t you bloody tell me you was coming?”

“Mind your language, Jack, in front of the ladies!”

“Sorry.” I held onto him for a moment longer.

“I’ve been visiting Jess and the children. She said I should surprise you,” he said.

“Bet old sis loved seeing you and the kids. How long you in England for?”

“Until I’m reassigned. Back at my old parish temporarily.”

Joe had been a Christian missionary in Africa for those past five years with his wife and children and it had been the first time I had laid eyes on him since. I’d only seen the children in photographs, having only met two of them once or twice and the third never at all. Joe looked older now and he was tanned and lined, but essentially, he hadn’t changed at all— still so neat, so serious, so soft-spoken and gentle mannered.

“I hope Jack’s been behaving himself.” He directed the question at the matriarch of sorts Mrs. Orwell who stood by the cooking pot, stirring the soup.

Her face turned a shade of red at being asked a question of the kind but didn’t exactly seem shy to answer promptly. “Well, I’ll not lie to a man of the church, Mr. Boys. I’m afraid your brother is a little bit of a handful.”

Joe’s eyebrow rose. “Jack! You never change, you old rascal. What was it mother told you on her deathbed?”

“Told me to make her proud. You know my sins are already forgiven.”

He smiled, took a sip of tea, and clasped my hand. “I’m sure she’d be very pleased with your position here. Really landed on your feet at this fine house with these delightful people you work with.”

“Don’t say that, they’ll get big headed.” I teased at the others.

It was at that moment that the master’s bell rang and I was summoned upstairs to the study.

“You have to come meet Monty…that is… you have to meet the master. If you want a handful, he’s it. Come with me, he won’t mind.”

Mrs. Orwell frowned. “See. Can’t get through to him. Jack Boys, you cannot take your brother upstairs un-announced.”

“No problem, Mrs. O, I’ll announce him when I get there.”

I grabbed my brother’s arm and wrenched him from his seat, leading him up the stairs to the main house at the top of the heavy door. It had once been my prison and the dread of a morning but now it felt comfortable, familiar, more dare I say it, like home. What had become of me?

I was strangely excited for Joseph to see where I worked and indeed who I worked for. He’d only ever seen me in tatty clothes, mending roads and fixing things. He’d never seen me in my last two work positions, working my way up the serving ladder.

“Jack, slow down.”

“Give over. You used to be the fastest runner of the four of us. You and James had fist fights over that.”

A smile found his face briefly. “Long time ago. I don’t do a lot of running these days.”

I tapped his stomach. “It shows.”

“Cheeky git.”

He followed me to the study and waited next to me as I tapped on the door in a rather excitable fashion. “Sir, it’s me.” I tapped again. “I’ve got a surprise.”

“I hate surprises,” came the reply. 

“Well, good, now you know it’s here, you won’t have to worry about it.”

“Just jolly well stop talking in riddles, Boys, and come inside.” 

He was still muttering something when we entered, and surprisingly, he was at his desk, keeping correspondence, pen to paper, working fervently with a cup of coffee beside him. The red under eye circles made it appear as though he hadn’t been to bed. He had! I had put him there myself.

“Who’s this?” he said, looking up from his writing, covering the papers with a book and then noticing Joe’s dog-collar. “Clergy?”

“Yeah but not just any old church riff-raff,” I said, nudging my brother forward to exhibit him. “This is my brother. He’s a vicar, Joseph Boys. Joe we all call him.”

“Sorry for the intrusion, Sir,” Joe said apologetically. “My little brother never had many manners.”

“Don’t I know it.” Monty rose from the leather chair and shook my brother’s hands. He glanced him over. “Ah, I see the resemblance. Though you have more height than your brother.”

“Thanks,” I muttered.

Monty was far more friendly with Joe than he had been with me at our first meeting and I watched in open-mouthed bewilderment as he eloquently participated in a conversation with another member of humanity. I think it must have been Joe’s calm demeanour—it always made everyone ready to open up to him in an instant and divulge their secrets. It was a good job my brother was an honest man and a vicar at that, people always seemed to trust the vicar.

They spoke so much that in the end I had to drag Joe away, take him back down to the kitchen for a spot of early lunch. I wasn’t sure where the morning had gone in such a hurry but Monty kindly let me spend the afternoon with my brother before returning to work again at dinnertime and for that I was grateful. I was so keen to spend time with him.

When were arrived in the servants’ hall, Mrs. Orwell was already serving the lunch, piling sandwiches onto Joe’s plate as if he were a king rather than the ordinary chap I’d grown up with. Frank entered the room a moment later, sweating and looking confused, pacing back and forth, his expression blank.

“What’s the matter, Frank, you seen a ghost?” Doris asked, grabbing his arm and pulling him onto a chair next to her.

“Might have done,” he said, looking at her. “Was out doing some errands. It’s real foggy out there, but I knew it was him.”

We all looked at each other.

“Who was who?” I asked.

“He what left all mysterious. The old manservant, what’s-his-name.”

“Herbert Carey,” Mary Boyle said, threading a needle.

“The bloke you all said was probably bumped off?” 

“That’s him. It was definitely him I swear. I got up real close and even in that mist I recognised the face and those cold dead eyes.”

“Sinister was it? Jack the Ripper was it?” I laughed, nearly choking on my cheese sandwich. 

“He never had a very trusting face,” Mrs. Orwell admitted.

“Ignore ‘em, Joe,” I said. “This old servant is apparently a ghost but not a ghost, evil but not evil, disappeared into the night and now apparently stalks other unsuspecting servants in the fog when they run their daily errands.”

I laughed but no-one joined in.

“Don’t be flippant, Jack. Perhaps there was cause for concern,” Joe said. 

Typical Joe. Always well-reasoned and going against my own opinion even when I was right. 

“They all told me he was murdered by the master when I first came here!” I said defending myself.

“I’m sure there’s a simple explanation.”

I was irritated. “But that’s what I’ve said all along!”

Doris suddenly shrieked. “What if the simple explanation is he’s coming here to murder us and that’s why the master kicked him out?”

“So, it is Jack the Ripper?” I nudged her with a spoon, making a stabbing motion at her torso. 

Mrs. Orwell placed the teapot down and sighed heavily as though dealing with a group of unruly schoolchildren. “For goodness sakes, young lady, that’s the last time you read those mystery thrillers before bed.”

After every theory got considerably more bizarre, my mind could not move away from the matter of the previous manservant and the reasons he left under mysterious circumstances. At least the rumours of his demise were untrue but it did beg the question: did the master ask him to leave? And why did he not say goodbye to the servants, leaving in the middle of the night?

I folded my arms. “Well, I think you’re all wrong. He probably had some reason to leave, sure, but why all the morbid theories? At the end of the day, why are we so worried about it?”

“You weren’t here, Jack,” Doris said. “The atmosphere changed when he started work here and the master changed too and then his mother.”

“How so?”

“Secret meetings for one,” Mrs. Boyle said. “Always the three of them in that study. And they were always sending us away saying ‘not to worry, Carey will see to it’ as though he was the favourite. But after he was gone, they acted like he never existed, told us that he had left for Ireland and that we were just to get on with things.”

“Yeah but the master looked guilty that following morning,” Frank said.

“I’d say more sad,” Doris added. “He didn’t leave his room much until you arrived for work, Jack. Frank had to tend to him but he didn’t seem to want anything done.”

“Well he told me he didn’t like him, maybe their personalities just clashed,” I said.

“He told you that?” Frank said. “Well, there you go, what if he did bump him off?”

“You just saw him in the street!”

“Oh yeah.”

Mrs. Orwell rolled her eyes. “That’s enough of this conversation. We work here. We’re not here to speculate. Off to work all of you. These are not the words for a vicar’s ears.”

…

I felt a shiver travel down my spine, and later as I led Joe to my room, I couldn’t think of anything else but the image of the previous manservant shrouded by fog. I’d never seen the man myself so I pictured a faceless one, wearing a suit like mine, beckoning me close with bony fingers. I’d laughed at the servants for their wild imaginations but my imagination was the most vivid of all. 

I opened the door to my attic room and Joe immediately sat on the rocking chair by the bed and rocked back and forth in an eerie fashion in the low light. I approached the window. The chair creaked. I walked slowly as though I was expecting to see something. I peered outside using my telescope. I gulped. My body froze in that moment. My eyes could not move from the sight that greeted me on the street outside— the sight of a man walking up and down the pavement— his face unclear, enveloped by the dense fog.

“What you looking at, Jack?”

I shrugged and looked away from the telescope. “Nothing mate. Just shadows of the past.”

“Nice telescope. How you afford that?”

“Didn’t steal it in case you’re wondering.”

“You’re touchy. I never suggested.”

“I’m sorry, Joe. I’m just so pleased to see you, my emotions are all over the place. I’ve had a lot going on the last months. The telescope belonged to the master. I helped him once so he gave it me.”

“That was very kind of him. You’ve got a good position here, Jack, especially with your track record. You’re lucky it’s all worked out. Come on then, what was it you wanted to show me?”

“Only if you promise you won’t laugh? Swear it on God or something.”

He grinned. “I swear. What is it?”

“My book of poems. I wrote about everything, and about you and Jess and James. Thought you could read the one I did about you.” I got onto the floor, on my hands and knees and pulled out a jemmy from under the bed. I began to use it to lever up the floorboard.

“A jemmy? Things hidden under floorboards? You been up to your old tricks?”

“No and it was one time, will you ever let me forget that?”

“Sorry. So why the secrecy, surely your poems aren’t that bad?”

“No, but they’re private. And believe me, nothing in this house is ever kept secret for long.”

I felt around under the wood and sure enough I soon found a bundle I assumed to be my book, but when I pulled it up, it wasn’t my poetry collection at all, it was a pile of paperwork I’d never seen before with a piece of string binding it together. I stared at it. The top piece was some kind of official form with a name I didn’t recognise printed on it.

“You alright, Jack?” 

I shook him off again and shoved the unknown papers under my bed, reaching under the floor again until I’d found what I’d been looking for. “Found ‘em.”

The other papers would wait until later. My brother was my focus for now.

…

After a pleasant afternoon with him, Joe trying not to laugh at my poetry and me trying not to sock him one, we shared a pint in the pub and then a calming walk in the park together.

I saw him off at the train station late afternoon with a hug. I had missed him so much. We stood there staring at one another not quite knowing what to say as the train pulled into the station and the sounds of goodbyes were all around us.

“I know I shouldn’t say this, but I can’t think of what else to say and I know I’m feeling it, but I really hope your next mission is London or Manchester, not the other side of the world.”

“I doubt it, but you never know. I promise I’ll write more, and look, you’ll see the kids before we finally go. I’ll write to you and arrange it.”

“But I might need your help.”

“You’ve never asked before, always done your own thing. And it seems you’ve got friends here. That Doris seems to like you too. Maybe you and her might make a nice pair?”

I shrugged. “She’s not for me. I’m very fond of her but as a friend.”

“I see. Well stay out of trouble. And keep doing what you’re doing with the job.” He opened the train carriage door and shook my hand. “And really your poems aren’t all that bad.”

I smirked. “Ta.”

I watched him climb on the train and then moments later saw it disappear in a cloud of smoke as it chugged along the track and away from my life. When the smoke cleared and I could see around me, it was Monty’s face that appeared through the evening mist, like that strange phantom that he resembled— only this time he was quite alert, standing on the stairs and raising his stick in the air to get my attention. He looked smartly -dressed and elegant, clean-shaven and quite handsome.

“You following me, Sir?” I said, walking past him and up the stairs where he was forced to run up two at a time to catch me.

“Don’t flatter yourself, Boys. I was at Rosamund’s dropping off something when I saw you and Joseph heading in here. I thought I’d wait for you. I supposed you’d be missing your brother after his departure and wondered if we could get a drink?”

“There’s a nice tea shop in the station,” I suggested.

“I thought maybe something stronger than tea, say at ‘The Brothers in Arms’ establishment?”

I was surprised. He’d not set foot there since the incident and he was the sort of chap that carried around a negative experience with him forever. “You want to go back?”

“Yes, I do. I think I’m ready, although not in all that disguise stuff, just as me. After all, why should I be ashamed of being myself in a publican house?”

I didn’t reply, didn’t tell him I’d already had a pint in another pub an hour before, and simply nodded as we walked together out of the station and the ten-minute walk to reach the Brothers in Arms. We didn’t speak much on the way there. He barely looked at me and his head hung low, his hat down over his face as though shielding him. He said he wanted to be himself, but apparently that meant being moody and unrecognisable. In fairness, I didn’t want to talk either. I was still thinking about my brother’s departure and had no desire to participate in idle chit chat.

When we arrived inside the pub, Amy noticed us and beckoned us to the bar.

“Jack, you again eh? And good evening, Sir,” she said, practically curtseying over the bar at Monty.

“Thank you, miss. We’d like two beers please.”

“I thought you’d be more into wine,” she replied.

“Beer will be fine, thank you.”

“Whatever you like.” She reached for the glasses and began to prepare the drinks. “It’s real nice you two coming here together, this time the way God made ya. Real equals.”

Monty and I looked at one another and laughed shyly at the assumption of being equal in anything. Looking at him, a strange sensation passed over me— I realised I felt proud of him, proud of his decision to be himself, to come back to the place he was hurt, to not hide behind a mask and pretend to be anyone but the person he hated. I slapped him on the back heartily as if he was one of my oldest pals. He smiled at this and in return copied my action, slapping me on the back in retaliation.

And then Bill appeared at the bar, cleaning one of the glasses with a tea towel. “Alright, Jackie lad? I don’t know how you can show your face in here after turning down a job as barman for yours truly.”

Monty’s eyes suddenly widened.

“Just kidding,” Bill said, “we got a better replacement anyhow and Helen’s far easier on the eye.”

I could practically feel Monty’s eyes upon me as I carried our drinks over to the table in the corner, away from other examining eyes and listening ears. We sat down and I deliberately avoided the conversation that was coming.

“Turned down the barman job? When was this?”

I wiped foam from my chin after taking several gulps of my drink. “Does it matter?”

“Defensive as usual. Perhaps it does, perhaps not. Regardless I thought it’d be something you could tell me.”

“Tell you I was looking for employment elsewhere?”

“Why not?”

“I was under no obligation to divulge any information to my employer.”

He sniffed. “Employer. I see. That’s how you see me, the tyrant employer that you keep secrets from?”

“Bloody hell, mate, what do you want from me? I considered it. I wanted options and, in the end, I decided against it. You had nothing to do with my decision for or against.” I lied. He had nearly everything to do with it.

He held his hands up in the air in a form of surrender as if we were fighting in a war. “I don’t want an argument. Forget I said anything. I’ve had enough of the bad blood between us. I’ve had enough fallouts with friends and family to last a lifetime.”

He fell silent then and I joined him. In the silence, I wondered what he had meant by his statement. He never really confided in me as to why his friends had deserted him or why he rarely saw his extended family. I’d always assumed it was mood-swings and the very nature of him that pushed others away but now I wasn’t so sure. All I did know was that there many secrets around us, secrets we may eventually share but ones that could equally stay hidden.

“Want another drink?” I suddenly said, ignoring the frostiness between us.

“Are you paying?” He smirked.

“Yes, I can afford it you know?” I resisted the urge to have a rant about my wages.

“In that case, if you’re not going to go off on one about your wages, I’ll have two more.”

I shook my head and mouthed ‘you git’.

By the time we left the pub, we no longer had any animosity towards each other and were rather merry. We were not drunk, I’ll tell you that, merely in the master’s words, ‘slightly squiffy’ and we walked along the darkened foggy streets together arm in arm like schoolfriends, laughing about this and that and god-knows-what. There wasn’t a logic about our route home either, sort of zig-zagged across the park and the back alleys until we finally reached the corner of Linksfield Avenue. Monty was staring down at the ground as he walked then, not keen for anyone to see him in a merry state. I on the other hand, much better at holding my drink, was still reasonably alert and it was then that I saw the figure at the end of the road, standing back off the pavement, under the cover of some trees. It was still foggy so his face was unclear but he was definitely lurking and I was beginning to feel the house was being watched. Ignoring the stranger, I hurried Monty into the house and got myself ready for the rest of the evening’s work.

My mind however kept drifting back to the strange paperwork hidden under my floor. Everything was confusing me. I needed to look at the papers properly and determine who it belonged to and so that’s what I did. I undid the string and scattered the papers across the floor, looking over them with a magnifying glass as though I was a detective solving a complicated case. I stared dumb-founded at all the documentation. There were work permits, birth certificates, letters, all in different names but all looking incredibly official with seals and stamps and signatures. Despite that there was something about them that looked a little off to me and I should know, I’d met forgers inside prison and I’d used forged papers myself to get employment after my initial release— unkeen for anyone to see me as just the criminal. Why were these papers under my floor? I was now starting to understand why my colleagues were suspicious and even believed Frank was telling the truth in some capacity.

…

Like the secret papers hidden under the floorboards, I hid my discovery for a while, unsure when to reveal it, certain I needed to find out more before approaching Monty with evidence. Instead I acted as though nothing had happened at all, so when he began a conversation about my brother it proved a welcome distraction and it proved even more helpful in trying to sober him up.

So, there we sat in Monty’s study as night time fell upon us, facing each other— Monty sat as usual on his favourite leather seat and I on a rather hard armchair that I was convinced he’d chosen for me as a punishment. The glow of the lamplight illuminated us and bathed Monty’s face in a warm orange hue, making him appear more healthy than usual as if he’d been holidaying in some foreign clime rather than a night at the pub. 

“So, was it nice to see your brother?” He asked, indicating for me to pour him a brandy. “Pour yourself a glass, Jack.”

That was a shock. More drink? 

“Thank you,” I said, pouring us a glass each and then sitting back down on the uncomfortable chair, trying to find a suitable position. “Yeah, it was nice to see him. He’s gone back to my sisters now. So, what do you think of him?”

Monty took a sigh of pleasure after a sip of his drink. “Splendid fellow I must say. Very charming and very likeable for a vicar.”

“Not a church fan then?” 

“Only to keep up appearances and all that.”

“I’m surprised you worry about such things?”

“Unfortunately, I still care what people think, Jack. Too much so really. If they think I’m not a church-goer, everyone will wonder why, start digging around into my affairs.”

“Really? I haven’t been to church in a couple of years, no-one’s noticed.”

“Lucky for you then. I’m expected to be there like some obedient puppy.”

“You don’t believe in it all then?”

Funny we’d never had this discussion before. Perhaps the drink was talking for the both of us.

“It’s not that I don’t necessarily believe in God, but I rather think that he doesn’t believe in me.” He looked down then, staring at his glass. “What about you, Jack, are you religious?” 

“I’m too lazy to be a practising Christian. I serve a man above me all week without having to do it on a bloody Sunday too!”

He laughed for a moment and then his face was serious again. “But do you believe?”

“Oh, I don’t know, I believe in something. I guess I believe in my brother and the work he does.”

I expected him to say something but he looked down again and took a big swig from his drink and I noticed his hands were suddenly shaking. He looked so uncomfortable, shuffling in his seat, his body all fidgety.

“You alright? Was it something I said? Do you not like Joe?”

“What are you blabbering about, Boys, how did you draw such a conclusion?” His voice was suddenly hoarse.

“I don’t know, I just mentioned my brother and you turned to the drink. I’m recognising your faults now, your habits and traits.”

He looked at me suspiciously. “You’ve got me all worked out then.”

“Getting there. I could write a book.”

I took a sip of my drink but instead of the laugh I was expecting from him, there was a sudden intake of breath and then a sob. Before I knew it, his head was buried in his hands and I was sat there watching as he descended into incontrollable wailing. 

“Monty?” I made my way to his side and my hand hovered over his shoulder. Did I touch him? Did he want me to, did he like that? I finally touched him lightly and then left my hand there as a manner of comfort. “What’s the matter?”

He pulled his hands from his face and he peered up at me, tears streaming down his cheeks as if he were a small boy who had lost his mother. I hadn’t a clue on how to deal with such emotions, I could barely deal with my own. I was his manservant, I wasn’t his quack, I wasn’t a relative and I wasn’t a friend…was I?

“I must look pathetic,” he said, drawing away from me, “ignore me, please.”

“As you wish…”

He grabbed my sleeve and rubbed his head against it. “No wait, please don’t ignore me. Don’t go.”

“I’m not going anywhere. Do you want to talk?” I gently lifted his head away and knelt before him, grabbing his hands in mine. “Tell me whatever it is. I can fix it.”

“You may be able to fix my bear, Jack, but I’m certain not even you can fix this mess.”

I attempted to make a joke then. “I’m good with a problem, me. Other people’s anyway, not so much my own. What did I say that upset you so much?”

He let go of my hands and walked to the door, checking to make sure it was closed. He bolted the lock. He then sat back down upon his chair, wiping away the wet cheeks and eyes. I sat back on the armchair, eagerly awaiting to hear what had so upset him— something so terrible that it had him sobbing like a child. Although I wanted to know, there was a sudden horrible feeling in the pit of my stomach that somehow this was all connected and I was about to hear the big confession.

“What is it?”

“It’s about the previous manservant.” He ran his shaking fingers through his hair.

“Yes. The bloke what Frank saw lurking at the park earlier. I thought I possibly saw him outside too on the way back, though I couldn’t see his face.”

With my words, he was on his feet again and I felt dizzy as I watched him pace the room. “He’s here?”

“Calm down, what’s some old manservant gonna do? Monty, who is this bloke?”

He stared at me and then said quietly: “He’s my brother.”

I instinctively laughed at the absurdity of the statement. He was having me on! But then I caught his expression and saw it had not changed in minutes. I’d never seen him look so terrified with his eyebrows low and his lip quivering. 

I made my way to the master’s side and whispered. “I don’t follow. How is he your brother?”

“He just is. He came here as the new manservant but he’s still my brother. My ‘perfect’ father had some liaison with a factory girl and well you can guess the rest. I only found this all out when he started working here. Had no idea when I hired him from the agency. All the secrets, all the lies, and truths and half-truths, I can’t stand it, Jack. I don’t know what’s real anymore.”

“Bloody hell.” Feeling a sudden sympathy for him wash over me, I led him back to his chair and sat him down. I pulled my chair close to his and tapped his knee lightly. “But why did he leave in the first place? I’m guessing he wasn’t looking for some cosy family reunion then?”

“No, he wanted money.”

“Bloody hell, Monty, then how do you know he’s your brother and not some con-man?”

As I said those words, I remembered the floorboards and all the fake documentation hidden underneath. He was about to respond to my question when there was a sudden thundering at the door and we both jumped back in fright. We looked at each other. Was it him?

I held Monty back so I could take a peek around the curtains to see who was at the door. “It’s gotta be him. That’s a shady looking chap if ever I saw one. Don’t worry, I’ll get rid if you don’t wanna see him.”

“No, you stay here. This is my mess. I must deal with it.”

I had no idea what mess had occurred but I tried to insist to go to the door instead, but he stopped me, commanded me to wait, and then answered it himself. I raced to the window, attempting to catch a proper glimpse but the man’s hat and the darkness of the night was obstructing my view. All I could make out was the man was tall.

When Monty returned, he sent me upstairs without a glimpse of the ‘brother’ and then I heard the man follow him into the study and heard the bolt being locked, trapping them together inside with all their secrets. Blast. How could I know what was going on? This ‘brother’, this ‘had to be fake’ was alone with the master and I was powerless to do anything but get down on my hands and knees and peer like some peeping Tom through the keyhole. At first the man had his back to the door and Monty was pacing back and forth, his voice raised. I was getting ready to break the door down should he lay a finger on my master but all he did was slowly follow Monty around quietly, calmly, eerily.

Then the man turned and I finally glimpsed his face through the keyhole. And I knew that face. It was an unmistakable face. Oh, how I knew that terrible face.


	7. The Other Side

I was all ready to break that door down with almighty force, confront that wretch of a man, give him what for and send him on his way. I even had my hand on the door handle ready and was ready to burst in when I heard the sweetest voice behind me saying my name.

“Jack?”

It was the soft tone of our dearest Doris. She was standing by the staircase and I realised I was still on the floor. I stood up and dusted off my trousers which were now fraying at the knee and would need mending.

“Why you down there?”

It was a fair question. I looked like some sort of animal on all fours. I was starting to wonder what Doris saw in me. I was very un-gentleman-like most of the time so I made up some lie about my shoelaces being untied and tried to throw her off the scent that I’d been spying on the master and his secret impostor brother.

“What is it, Doris?” I was rather sharp with her. I didn’t even realise I was doing it until thinking back.

“Sorry, Jack, but Mrs. Orwell wanted me to remind you about packing the master’s bags for your trip tomorrow.”

“Trip?”

Suddenly it hit me. The trip! My mind had been so focused on the master and his previous manservant that I’d completely forgotten about the weekend visit to Rosamund’s country estate. Well that ruined all my plans. I needed to learn why that man was here, why he was suddenly Monty’s brother, why Monty was talking to him so calmly. Why the man I had known had Monty in his clutches? Doris prodded me and I knew my investigations would have to wait until later. Why did all the juicy stuff have to wait?

Like a moody child, I huffed, hurried away, raced up the stairs into Monty’s room and shoved his clothes into a suitcase. I knew I should’ve taken more care but, in that moment, as I wondered about Monty’s safety with that man, I wasn’t thinking about a job well done— just completed to some minor degree. I noticed a few specks of blood on the cuffs of one of his shirts and wondered if Monty was up to his tricks again but I had no time to think on it, matter of fact, I had no time to have them cleaned and pressed. I was preoccupied and had done little of my work. I reached into the wardrobe and pulled out some clean shirts instead, folding them carefully into the case. It was always a good thing to have back-ups of everything.

By the time I was free to talk to the master, the now so-called Herbert Carey had vanished and it was already the next day and we were in the car to Rosamund’s and I hadn’t remembered it all happening as though it were some strange spectacular dream. That night had been agonising as Monty had refused to talk to me before bedtime, insisting it could wait, but I couldn’t wait and the morning couldn’t come fast enough. I had spent the night in bed, wide awake, wondering what was happening. Finally, when we were driving along a country lane, I asked:

“Well, what did he want!?” I practically sprung from my seat, the words nearly exploding out of my mouth.

He sighed. “My brother you mean? He was just checking in I suppose. It’s not as sinister as you imagine.”

“About all this brother business. Do you really know this man?”

“Not well, but does that really change things?”

“Don’t be so blind!” I shouted, not intending such an outburst, telling myself to keep calm and collected like my usual self and trying not to swear or swerve off the road. “I saw him through the keyhole when he was ‘round. I hate to tell you this, but he’s a bloody criminal, Monty.”

I quickly glanced at him— his head was low. “You can’t be sure.”

“But I am. I should know, shared a cell with him for three months. He’s not even called Carey or whatever he told you, he’s called Ellis Stevens.”

Suddenly there was a scream. “Stop! Stop the car!” And Monty was hitting his knees and flailing about.

“What?!”

“Stop the blasted car, Jack!”

I did as I was instructed, and pulled over to the side of the deserted road. He got out of the car so I followed to where he then sat sulking under a tree where the leaves had mainly fallen and its branches looked lonely and bare. The tree looked like the master himself, tired after a busy summer but it had beauty in its own way with its skeletal like branches and the gloomy backdrop. I flopped down beside him and fell silent for several moments, waiting for him to reply to my earlier announcement. I watched as he took a twig from the ground and pushed it into his hand. At first, he did it lightly but then I could see him sticking it in so deep that his hand began to bleed. I don’t think he realised he was doing it. I took the twig away from him and then held his hand in mine.

He was staring down at the blob of blood watching it trickle like a tiny red river across the lines on his palm.

“Are you alright?” I wiped the blood away with my handkerchief. “I…noticed the blood on your shirt earlier.”

It was the first time I’d ever had the courage to bring it up. I didn’t want to upset him. I had no clue how to handle such a situation but this blood business seemed important. I had dealt with employers who were drunks and cowards who inflicted pain and suffering on others but never dealt with an employer who inflicted pain upon himself. It left me somewhat unsure of how to act for his best interests, not knowing whether to be kind and nurturing like a sweet nanny, or tough and firm like a strict father.

He looked at me. “Did you?”

“I hid the razor blades. What you use?”

“Do you mind if we don’t talk about it, Jack. Don’t change the subject anyhow. We were talking about Herbert.”

“Or Ellis.”

I knew I’d have to leave the problem of the cuts for another time. He threw another twig and ran his hand through his tumbling curls. “I’ve been foolish, haven’t I?”

“Not foolish, a little naïve maybe but it’s only because your heart’s in the right place.”

“Right place? Is it really? Mother and I were paying him off, Jack, secretly, quietly, as if we were criminals ourselves, ashamed of our actions.”

“He’s the criminal, not you. You want to keep your reputations, he’s a con man.”

“Is that what he was in prison for?”

“Amongst other things. He’s a wrong-un.”

He paused for a moment and then I swear I could almost see his mind working behind his green eyes.

“But I suppose…suppose…he’s still my brother?”

“What?”

“No, no, listen. What if he’s a con man, a crook, yes, but what if he’s that and also my brother? His story was so believable, Jack. Whilst I was brought up in luxury, he was the bastard child and could have been surviving on the streets, turned to crime as a last resort.”

I lifted his head until he was looking in my eyes. “Don’t fall for it, Monty. I know him. What may be true of some, aint true of him. And think of this, if he really was your brother, why would he want to do this to you?”

“Well, he may have been jealous, want to get revenge?”

It was difficult to get through to him. I wasn’t sure why he was so keen for this imposter to be his family but there was something else bothering him.

“Is there anything else?” I asked.

“I always wanted to believe my father was the good one but I have to face facts that maybe he wasn’t perfect and if he had this secret son then maybe I’m looking at it wrong, maybe it’s better, Jack, maybe father’s like me after all, mistake aplenty.”

“I get that, but I found some stuff in my room under the floorboards.”

“Stuff?”

“Fake documents, money, you name it. Ellis is a master at this. He had all that stuff for whatever he needed. Granted some of it looked pretty authentic.”

“His birth certificate looked real.”

“Some might be, some not but he can get hold of these things. He’s a villain.”

Monty let out a laugh but tears formed in his eyes. “God, I know how to hire them don’t I?”

I laughed with him. “A con-man and a thief, former jail mates. Bloody hell.”

Monty smiled. “You may have shared a cell but you don’t share any other qualities. He’s cruel and cold, you’re nothing of the kind.”

“Then we need to find the proper truth. If he isn’t your brother then he needs to be punished and we need to know why he targeted you.”

“We?”

“Together. After this family trip, we’ll go and pay old Ellis Stevens a visit. I’ll get you the truth for once and for all, Monty.”

We shook hands on it and when he had composed himself, we got back in the car and made our way on our journey. By the time we pulled up at Rosamund’s grand countryside place, I almost couldn’t believe my eyes. I had thought the master rich, but compared to his sister he was practically a lowly beggar. In my years as a servant, I’d visited many grand houses, but I don’t think I ever saw one as magnificent as Willow Tree Manor. It stood regally among the land, more like a castle than a home with a lake at the front and a stretch of trees at the back. The house itself was so large and intimidating and hundreds of years old. Crossing the threshold felt like I was an invader, sealing my victory.

We were greeted at the front door by Rosamund’s butler Fowler (who seemed to think I was a bad smell under his nose) and a well-dressed gentleman with just about the finest handlebar moustache I’d ever seen. Monty was shaking his hand.

“Edgar.”

“Clement, it’s been a while.”

I assumed Edgar was Rosamund’s mostly absentee husband but I only ever heard to him referred to as Lord Barrington and had never heard his Christian name. Perhaps that was because the name was Edgar and best left hidden. He was older than I had imagined, ten years or so Rosamund’s senior and much more handsome than I had expected. The dashes of grey at his temples made him appear mature and sophisticated. 

“You took your time, Clement,” Prudence said, appearing beside him as if conjured by a magician. “We’ve been here an hour. You two have a habit of arriving late.” She eyed me up and down in a most suspicious manner so I smirked deliberately, just to annoy her.

“Mother, not now,” Monty said.

“In time for afternoon tea at least,” Rosamund added, also appearing beside us and pushing her mother away.

“And why your servant must follow you around everywhere!” the mother added. 

“It’s what a servant does mother!”

“Not in the front door with the rest of us.” She looked me up and down. “Boys, regardless of what my son says you will go around the back with the rest of the help.”

“Of course ma’am.” I tipped my hat at her and then smirked at Monty which she definitely spotted as I saw her look at her daughter. Then I grabbed my suitcase and as I was about to leave, I heard Rosamund announce to her mother that I was a naughty boy. 

When I reached the back entrance, I ended up in a dark gloomy hallway and finally a large servants’ hall which was cramped and dull. The house in comparison was so grand, so full of rooms and books and art— the kind of house that the country was slowly losing— and with good reason. These houses were made to be gawped at and visited, not to be lived in. It was beautiful, that was obvious, but so vast that it didn’t feel cosy or comfortable. If I were to have a house of my own, I knew it’d be small, modest but full of beautiful things with nice windows that would look out onto a busy street with a pub on the corner and kids playing on the cobbles outside. I was dreaming! A house of my own. What man like me was ever likely to have a house of my own?

“Boys, finally decided to grace us with your presence?” Mary Boyle said, showing me the way around the downstairs of the house. “You know you do take liberties with the master?”

“Did I ask for your thoughts on it, Mary?”

“You didn’t.”

“Then shut it. Your duty is the mother so you leave the son to me.”

“Well I know your sort. Manipulations your game.”

Where had this come from? She was certainly a dark horse. She barely spoke to me personally, always griping in the shadows back at the house, telling us all the secrets and details of everything. And now here she was judging me. Well I wasn’t going to take it.

“Your opinion has been duly noted, Mary.” I turned away from her and introduced myself to the household servants, flashing my best smile and shaking hands in turn. There were several pretty young ladies who worked as maids and kitchen staff and there were also several young handsome footmen who seemed to get taller on each occasion I met them. The tallest was a charming Welsh chap named Gareth who was as talkative as I and certainly a bit of a rascal.

“Pleasure to meet you all,” I had told them.

The servants seemed to be a spirited bunch and I relished in the lunch we shared as I got to know them all, laugh with them and share stories. I told them a few of my best jokes over the table and aside from sour-faced Boyle and fowl old Fowler, they were an incredibly friendly lot. By the time I was called to the conservatory to help serve drinks, I’d almost forgotten about Monty’s brother troubles. It wasn’t usually my duty to serve the guests like a waiter but according to lord-fussy-bottom Barrington, a servant was a servant and should do any old task set to him. If only the task set to me was to poison his drink! Handsome he may have been, kind he was not. I really needed to stop imagining murder.

I bit my tongue on the matter and played the obedient little puppy like any good servant and I made my way around the room, handing a drink to everyone and being as polite as possible. If I were rude it’d reflect badly on my master.

“Can I have a drink mother?” Rosaumund’s eldest daughter said. She was sixteen and the spitting image of Monty down to the green eyes and family golden curls.

“No, you can’t, Louisa.”

Louisa grumbled but then her eyes found mine and suddenly that pouting face was alight with mischief. “Hello again, Boys.”

I smiled. “Miss Louisa.”

“You’re looking very well.” I didn’t like the way those green eyes, identical to Monty’s, were scanning my body. I felt like some growing young lady’s experiment.

Thankfully at that moment, Monty himself appeared by my side and I was rescued!

“Louisa,” he said, his eyebrow rising with an adult disapproval. “Are you bothering Boys?”

Her eyelashes fluttered. “Oh no, never, Uncle Clement. I like Boys.”

“I know you do, that’s rather the problem.” He coughed and then whispered into my ear. “Like mother, like daughter one fears.”

…

Although the whole idea of rich people owning ridiculous sized properties annoyed me to no end, one thing I did like about the country estate was the way I could stand outside in the evening with not a soul to bother me. I admired the view of the field stretched to the distance and glanced at the pretty lanterns which lit the gardens from the trees. I stared up at the crescent moon and those stars that graced the black sky—and I found myself contemplating life’s meaning. It also gave me the opportunity to enjoy a good cigarette, take a long drag and not let anything ruin the silence.

As I stubbed out my cigarette and was about to turn back inside, I caught the sight of two figures holding hands by the row of hedges. Squinting, I could see it was young Louisa in her pink dress standing next to the footman Gareth. The fools! My heart sank. I knew that none of the oblivious family would be aware of such a development and if any of them caught the two of them together then all hell would break loose. I had to do something before the situation spiralled out of control and I did the only thing I could think off—I went to the master.

I tapped on the door to his room lightly and when I heard a reply, I crept in, turned on the light and tried not to laugh at the sight of him in his bed like a giant cuddly animal— his teddy-bear beside him and a book in his arms. His thick unruly hair was neatened at his hand as I sat down upon the bed.

“Jack, what is it, not a fire again?”

Fire again? I wanted to know that story but didn’t have time. 

“Sorry, I wouldn’t have interrupted if it wasn’t important.”

“Something wrong?”

“I’ve just seen Louisa and one of the footmen out in the night together.”

“Crikey!” He climbed out of bed quicker than I’d ever seen him and threw on his dressing gown. “I better fetch Rosie.”

“Let’s not be hasty. I mean I don’t want that young man Gareth rid of on my watch and I’m sure you don’t want Louisa humiliated. Shall we see to it ourselves?”

He smiled. “Called to another adventure eh Jack?”

I smirked. “If you like. I just thought as you’re her uncle she’ll listen to you and we can sort it out without any fuss.”

He smirked. “So, you came here to ask me about this even though you had a plan all along?”

I hadn’t thought of it like that. Blimey, was there some truth in Mary’s words?

…

Monty and I sneaking out in the dead of night I will admit gave me quite a thrill and made me imagine us as jewel thieves again, roaming the rich properties ready for treasures. I really needed to stop imagining fantastical scenarios. I’d always been the adventurous sort, had always got some sort of kick from breaking the rules but with Monty beside me it felt somehow even better, more exciting. I’d always done everything alone but when I thought about it, it was better with two. And things were changing. I was changing. I was torn between my quest for adventure and my longing to settle. I was beginning to experience a growing desire to live quietly, comfortably, have roots of my own. And with each passing day where that kind of life called— I was scared. I wanted to run and push it away. The more I thought about living life in the normal way, the more I suddenly needed to do something dangerous to see that I still could. I was constantly being pulled in both directions. What was wrong with me?

We followed the path along the rear garden, taking the route I’d seen Louisa and Gareth take together, the direction that led through the trees to a field at the back of the property. It had been raining so there was mud everywhere.

“Why did they come to such a place?”

My eyebrow rose. “Really? You really are naïve.”

He frowned. “Don’t be a patronising ass, Jack, I meant not only is it somewhat in view from the house but its muddy, damp and cold and not at all suitable for a rendezvous. Hardly romantic.”

I smiled and then hushed him, placing my finger over his lip as I caught sight of the couple seated together by the old fence, sitting on a blanket on the damp grass and lit by a lantern. To my relief they were simply sitting talking and the only intimacy was his hand gently upon her knee.

“What should we do?” Monty asked. 

“Don’t scare them, just go over and softly let them know we’re here.”

I shortly disobeyed my own instructions as I saw Gareth’s ‘innocent’ hand move up Louisa’s leg in what I gathered was a not-so-innocent move. I raced forwards through the mud, grabbed him by his jacket and pulled him up.

Louisa screamed as she saw us. “Uncle Clement! Boys!”

I held Gareth to full height by the scruff of his neck where he towered above me. But I could see he was fearful. “I suggest, you Casanova, get back to the house.” I was surprised by my own force or overzealousness. I let him go, he apologised and scarpered sheepishly the way he came.

“Boys, I’ll deal with this,” Monty said in his authoritative voice. “Now Louisa, this is no place for a young lady to be at night, especially with a boy and even worse so a servant of the house.”

She folded her arms. “Uncle Clement, really, we were just talking.”

“At night? Outside in a muddy field?”

She shrugged. “Still no reason to have your man Boys ruffle him up like he’s a criminal.”

I looked down, feeling ashamed with myself.

“Well, yes, I’m not entirely sure why Boys leapt like a wolf onto young Gareth but be thankful it was no worse. That young fellow has no right to be out here with you, it’s a dismissible offence.”

“No, don’t, it’s my fault!”

“I don’t care whose fault it was; it won’t be happening again.”

“But you won’t have him rid of?”

“Of course not.”

I admit I was rather impressed with Monty’s authoritative attitude when the occasion called for it. I was so used to the timid, unadventurous Monty that I forgot this was the same man who had sorted out my blackmail for me.

“I’m sorry, Uncle Clement,” she said, “you’re not going to tell mother about it are you? Grandmama would disown me!”

Monty was more of a softie than I thought and as soon as his niece began crying, he placed his arm around her and cuddled her. Embraced another human being!

“No, I’m not going to tell anyone. That’s if you promise not to see young Gareth ever again unless in an official capacity?”

“That’s so unfair. Why can’t I be friends with him?”

“Because he wanted to be more than friends.” I smirked.

“Don’t be vulgar, Boys.”

Louisa wiped a tear from her cheek. “But we’re not allowed to talk without father or grandmama forbidding it.”

“As it happens, I sympathise with you but that doesn’t mean I approve of you running off in the way you did.”

“We weren’t running away, Uncle Clement, we simply wanted to spend some time together.”

Monty reached out his hand and she took it. “Come on Lou Lou, we’ll speak no more of this. Your reasons are understood by me and I’ll not scold you for them but any more behaviour of this nature and I’ll be forced to speak. For now, it shall remain between ourselves. Boys will only tell one more person, someone who will keep a close eye on that footman.”

Louisa sighed. “So, I won’t see him anymore?”

“I’m afraid not in the way you’d like.”

They linked arms together and we walked back to the house with me following on behind.

“I only wanted a friend. A friend not like me, not with all this about society and functions and things. Someone who knows about the big bad old world. How good it should be to have a friend like that.”

Monty looked at me and smiled. “Know what you mean.”

“You know, Uncle Clement? They say all sorts of things about you but they’re very wrong. You’re very nice and understanding.”

She let go of his arm and snuck in the back door with us where she then tiptoed from the servants’ quarters to the main house.

“Hear that, Jack, she thinks they’re wrong about me?”

“I heard, sir.”

I had heard and it made me wonder what they’d been saying. Why did they say it? How much time did they spend discussing Monty?

“You know, Jack, I’ve spent more time outdoors since you’ve arrived then practically my whole adult life. Can I go inside now and hibernate ‘til spring?”

“No!”

…

Even though I was shattered and it was approaching the chime of midnight, I helped Monty into bed and then sat for a moment on the chair beside the window, taking another glance at that beautiful moon.

“Tired?” he asked.

Talk about stating the bleedin’ obvious. “Just a bit.”

He shuffled under his covers and laughed. “What an evening!”

“Life is anything but boring with you lot,” I said, attempting to chuckle and feeling too tired to manage it.

“How do you mean?”

“Your lot, as in you posh folk. I shouldn’t really say it but you keep us servants in constant gossip. We know everything there is to know about the lot of ya. The situations you get yourselves in!” I opened my eyes and looked at his thoughtful face. “Sorry, does that offend you?”

“No, I know it to be true. But in fairness to us, Boys, our lives are so very dull. They often need spicing up. Of course, some people rather overdo the seasoning but such is life.”

I laughed, he laughed, and soon we were both in hysterics and clutching our stomachs until we were all laughed out, like two schoolboys who’d consumed too much wine for the first time.

“It’s true what Louisa said though,” he said. 

“Hmm?” My eyes were closed but I was still listening, well just about anyway.

“Why do you think our lot and your lot find each other so attractive?”

My eyes sprung open. “You what?”

“We’re fascinated by the other side, Jack. You wonder how we live; we wonder how you live. Admit that when you first came to work here, you were curious about me? Even though of course you did anything to pretend you were ambivalent to my existence.”

I folded my arms. “Oh, you know what I was thinking, do you?”

“You had the face of a man who both feared me and wanted to murder me in my sleep!”

I laughed. “That’s pretty true. I suppose there is an excitement in being friends with the other side, sort of rebellious. Goes against all your own principles.”

Monty sighed and placed the covers up under his chin. “And now my brother is opposite from the very nature of me? Born under the same father and yet separate in all life experience.”

“He’s not your brother, how many times can I say it?” I felt my voice rising in irritation.

“But he had a birth certificate, Jack.”

“Bloody hell, you are an alien. You need a few days with the crooks and beggars, mate, then you’ll believe me. Anyone can forge a birth certificate.”

“Anyone?”

“Alright, not anyone but the right people can, experts of that craft. Your lot has those too. We may be from different worlds but that world aint just this type and that type, it’s full of a million different types all trying to survive together and not kill one another. Your people do wrong sometimes, my people do good too and sometimes the hero is the villain in disguise. Sometimes the villain is just misunderstood and sometimes he’s just a cold villain, you know what I’m saying?”

“Yes. And you believe what about my so-called brother? What kind of villain might he be? You think he’s swindling me?”

“You’re paying him.”

“Yes. Mother and I spoke with him and all agreed, decided it was best for a monthly sum.”

“But why?”

“Jack, people may be shades of grey in this so-called black and white world but on my side of life, you’re branded forever by one mistake. My father’s mistake if indeed he has one, is now my mistake too. Mother and I are paying for this man’s silence as much as anything, just like I paid for the silence of your blackmailer. You don’t want to live forever as the thief and we don’t want this to get out and forever be the family with the bastard secret brother. Even worse should it be true, Jack, that he went to prison. How would that go down in society with mother’s friends, friends with loose tongues?”

“And what if my secret were to come out, Monty?” I asked, walking over to him, leaning by his bed and staring at him. “I could bring shame on the entire household. The manservant with the criminal past. A scandal like that could be just as damaging.”

“It’s different.”

“Why?”

“You’re worth every risk, Jack, now bugger off to bed so I can get some sleep.”

…

With Monty’s somewhat baffling declaration that he’d risk his position and character to help me, I felt duty-bound to return the favour and assist him not only in the work around the house but also in the task of confronting my dreaded cell mate Ellis or Herbert, whatever number of names he called himself. I remembered those nights in the bottom bunk with him overhead, wondering what he was thinking. He was someone you were careful around, tight-lipped and quiet. He was one of those calm fellows, able to get what he wanted with an unassuming demeanour. But when he snapped, boy did he snap. I’d even been on the receiving end of his fist for a snarky comment. Was I being hasty? Was I downright stupid to want to confront him?

I shook off the doubts and kept the idea from Monty when we returned to Linksfield. I was determined to sort out the whole sorry mess once and for all and after a few sighs and mumbles from the master, I put him to bed and snuck into his study, managing to obtain the weasel’s current address from the address book. The next day I set about making my way on the short journey to where he resided in a flat in the next town. 

Of course when I was about to leave on my day off, I had put but one foot out of the door when Monty queried my exit and as soon as I had fabricated my day’s plans, he’d seen right through my lies, scolded me and then ordered me to wait for him at the back door so he could join me on my ‘fool’s errand’ as he called it. I did think about running at that moment, not give him a chance to catch up but decided against it—after all, he deserved to know the truth, deserved to know what this con-man was up to, deserved to hear him speak the words.

So, there we were the master and I on our next adventure, sitting opposite one another on the train in a first-class compartment. Talk about riding in heavenly style on the tracks to hell. It wouldn’t have been so if I were alone, I’d have been with all the regular folk in third class but there we sat in relative luxury on our way to confront the devil together. 

He yawned. “By George, I’m tired.”

“You didn’t have to come.” I used my coat as a pillow and rested my head against it.

“Neither did you. It’s really none of your business.”

“It’s not such a big deal for me to do this sort of thing. And I like to get out on my day off.”

“As do I, Jack. I just like to get out and then get back inside in the shortest amount of time.”

“Everyday is a day off for you.”

He wagged his finger at me. “But really, its jolly tiring with you.”

“Don’t worry, we’ll get to the bottom of this soon enough.”

“I have faith,” said Monty, “I’m simply apprehensive.”

“Me too. Here, sit back, relax. The compartment’s empty, have a kip, you’re so stiff.”

He shuffled in his seat but he never truly looked relaxed.

I looked at him. “You want him to be your brother in a way, don’t you?” 

“Not him, per se, oh I don’t know, but the idea of another sibling, someone who shares the blood, I confess it appeals to me.”

“You know the chances are he’s not what you’re looking for? And believe me, you don’t want him for a brother.”

“I know, but I have this feeling deep within me that there’s more going on here. Even if he’s not my brother, there’s a secret he knows. I’ve felt there’s been something hidden for years. My father was keeping me in the dark, Jack, and you’re my way to turn on the light.”

I smiled. “Get some kip. We need you well rested. Don’t worry, I’ll wake you up when we get there.”

I watched Monty lean back against the seat and close his eyes and then I glanced out of the window, watching the landscape as it whizzed by. Not much to look at, nothing pretty or serene, just endless grey skies and trees ravaged by the late autumn. But it was interesting, moody and full of character and I continued to watch before my eyes too began to close. The adventure had begun and part of me never wanted it to end.


	8. Confrontation

Standing on the pavement outside Linksfield, I noticed Monty at the attic window, staring down at me but not moving, stood frozen still, dressed in white like a ghost. I called out to him but the words wouldn’t escape my dry lips and he was pointing behind me to where a faceless hooded figure stood motionless in the middle of the road. I stared at him and called out but he ignored me so I walked over and pulled up the hood and there I stood, staring at myself— gazing into my own lifeless eyes. I peered back up at the window and saw Monty mouthing my name over and over.

And then I woke up, realising I was in fact on the train, my head pressed against the window with Monty touching my shoulder, repeating my name. I had no idea why I’d fallen asleep on such a short trip but nevertheless the dream had unsettled me. 

“We’re here,” Monty said.

I peered out of the window, noticing the platform was heaving with life and enveloped in a dense layer of smoke and soot—creating a blanket of grey around the train; as though it was floating on storm clouds. Around us, everyone rushed for the train doors simultaneously and as we exited the compartment, we were caught in a mass of people— arms and legs everywhere—all trying to leave the train at once, etiquette out of the window. Instinctively (though it was my day off) I had grabbed both of our bags before we departed. It was only when we had left the vicinity of the station that I had the peculiar sensation that someone was following.

As we walked, I could still feel a presence behind us and see something from the corner of my eye whenever I turned. Then I heard footsteps loud on the cobbles and so I stopped dead still, just like my dream, in the middle of the road. Monty turned around.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

I hushed him, discreetly glancing in both directions. “Someone’s following us.”

“Herbert?”

“He wouldn’t know we’re here.”

As I turned my head, I caught the distinct sight of a woman in navy blue darting behind a post box that was conveniently located on the pavement and so I slowly approached the red box, walking cautiously one step at a time, before peering around and coming face to face with none other than Amy the barmaid! By this point, Monty was beside me as shocked as I was at our stalker.

“Amy!” I exclaimed as she screamed at having been caught.

She rose up from her squatting position and dusted down her skirt. She looked at me coyly. “Jack, fancy seeing you here.”

My eyebrow rose. “Don’t give me that old chestnut, Amy, you were following us! I’ve been around a bit to know when I’m being watched.”

Her face scrunched up awkwardly and then she sighed. “Oh alright, I’m sorry. My fella always said I was too nosy.”

“But why, young lady?” Monty said, waving his walking stick at her as if he were a schoolmaster. 

“You both looked shifty, up to something. I’ve been with my man ten years god help me, and I know when a bloke’s hiding something.”

“Then why not make yourself known?” Monty added.

“I couldn’t get in first class, sir,” she began, “and besides, I wanted to spy on you for a bit, make sure Jackie wasn’t up to his old tricks.”

“Bloody cheek!”

Monty leaned in close to Amy. “Do you know about Jack’s past then?”

“He’s always been a rascal, even when we were small.”

I laughed. “Like you were ever small.”

She punched me on the arm. “Cheeky sod. Stop changing the subject. What are you up to, Jonathan?”

People only ever called me Jonathan when I was being naughty. My mother used to yell it down the streets when I’d eaten the hot pie off the windowsill and my father when I snuck in the pub as a nipper and took a swig of his gin.

I grabbed Amy’s arm and led her to the alleyway so the three of us could have the rather private conversation alone. “Look, if you must know, we’re confronting sir’s previous manservant. Right nasty character, claims to be his brother. But I know him from the old days, he’s bad news and I wanna know what he’s up to this time.”

“I’ll help then.”

“You certainly will not, young lady!” Monty folded his arms.

“But I’ve come all this way, don’t leave me out.”

“It could be dangerous,” I said.

“Could it?” Monty looked at me.

“We don’t know what mood Ellis will be in.” I said, “Look, Amy, you can come but you don’t get involved. You stay in the background, stay outside the house, alright?”

“I need to be close in case you do something stupid.”

“We need to find the place first. Come on, let’s get to this house and get this over with.”

Monty shivered. I wasn’t sure if it was the cool autumnal chill or his nerves catching up with him. “I’m terrified and excited all at once.”

I tapped his shoulder as a means of reassurance and then we walked the streets for a while, the three of us, asking for directions like city tourists on a day trip, before finally arriving at our destination—Ellis’ place—half an hour after we started. As suspected, Ellis, or Herbert as he called himself, lived in a rather unsavoury part of town where the alleyways met the street and the drunks and whores loitered at every corner as soon as the sun came down. For now it was reasonably quiet, respectable citizens passing through on their working day.

I ushered Monty past the many pairs of eyes observing us and when we reached the small house at the end of a row of terraces, I suggested that Amy stand a few paces behind, which she did with much reluctance.

“Ready?” I looked to Monty.

“Not really.”

I knocked but there was no reply. I knocked again but there was silence. After what felt like an age, a woman opened the door, half-dressed, caked in rouge and lipstick, her hair askew. She eyed us up and down and I saw Monty’s eyes divert from her person. 

“He aint here, love,” she said, directing it at me.

“Dammit.” I ran my fingers through my hair. “Do you know where he is or when he’ll be back?”

The woman refused to speak then, miming buttoning her lip and glancing up at Monty, knowing full well he was a gentleman. Why did he always insist on wearing a watch-fob and fine tailored garments even when he was supposed to be dressing down?

Monty sighed and reached into his pocket, pulling out a few coins and placing them into the woman’s grubby hand. “Well…answer the man’s question.”

“Much obliged, sir. Well he always comes back at nine o’clock in the evening, on the dot, you can set your watch by him. Creature of habit I suppose. He’s been to the tavern of course.”

“Sounds like you,” Monty whispered aside to me. “The pub part not the creature of habit.” He looked at the woman. “Thank you…uh…Miss…Lady…thank you.” And with that the door was slammed in our faces.

“Now what?” Monty moaned.

I rubbed my hands together. “No problem. We’re presented with an opportunity.”

“Why do you always say that?”

“Means we’ve got until nine to do whatever we like.”

“Whatever we like Boys? Remember you’re still in my employ…for the time being.”

“It’s my day off.”

“You’re in the company of your master. I will not have you getting up to shenanigans in my presence.”

“I promise, no shenanigans. But the three of us deserve some fun before the work starts eh? First off, some grub, I’m starved.”

“In that case I know of a lovely little hotel just out of this…rough area that will be quite suitable.”

Amy and I glanced at each other. Sir was taking us to dinner!

…

So there the three of us stood twenty minutes later outside a ridiculously grand looking hotel, Amy and I craning out necks staring up at it in wide-eyed wonder.

“Little hotel you said.” I smirked at Monty.

“Well, maybe not little but rather charming.”

“I’m hardly dressed for such a place,” Amy said, frowning as she looked down at her oversized blouse and skirt which had sewn up patches.

“She’s right, sir,” I said. “They’ll not let us commoners in.”

Before I had time to protest, Monty was handing me a bundle of notes and was telling me to buy myself and Amy evening wear from the local fashion boutique and store. I tried to refuse but he was already waving us off.

“I’ll get us a few rooms,” he said, smiling.

“Sir, this isn’t meant to be a party, we’re meant to be confronting your so-called brother!”

“Yes, and I’d like a jolly good time of it before we face the beast. Come on Jack, it was your idea in the first place.”

“I meant a drink in a pub not a fancy hotel and new clothes.”

“Please, Jack, I’ve lived your life for a while, going to Amy’s workplace in a disguise and trying to act like I have any clue what it’s like to walk in your shoes. Let me see how you and Amy inhabit my world just for the next few hours, the shoe on the other foot as it were. And then at midnight, like Cinderella you can both run away and back to your normal selves.”

“I’d rather stay as Cinderella if you don’t mind,” Amy said.

I was about to protest again when Monty shooed me away and Amy dragged me by the arm down the many steps. I felt I was dreaming. The master making reservations on his own in a hotel, the man who could barely look someone in the eye, who usually got me to arrange everything— was booking the three of us into a hotel and buying us clothes. It made me wonder if I was now privy to a glimpse of what the master had once been, years ago when he had friends he wanted to spend money on and time with, when he wasn’t afraid of his own shadow, when life’s troubles hadn’t sent him fleeing from human interaction. What had come over him now? Was he being taken over by some other life force or a ghost or was he simply waking up from a bad dream?

I felt horribly guilty as Amy and I tried on clothes as though it wasn’t Monty’s social awakening or generosity that had prompted this extravagance but that I’d manipulated him to get what I wanted. I could see Mary Boyle’s face in my mind, her bony finger wagging at me. I could see Mrs. Orwell too, scolding me for dragging the master away to a dodgy neighbourhood to confront a criminal. Had I lost my mind?

Outside the hotel entrance, Monty was waiting on the steps when we arrived, looking strangely confident in the way he held himself—head held high and hands on hips. I on the other hand felt like an idiot, restricted in a dinner jacket and all that garb that went with it—white tie! I must have looked ridiculous. Even my valet uniform was not as fancy and to wear this kind of frivolous outfit for a night out, it was insanity. 

“Stop adjusting yourself, Jack,” Amy said, linking her arm through mine, “We’re livin’ how the other half lives ‘ere.”

“I say, Amy,” Monty said, kissing her hand as we greeted him on the top step. “You look beautiful.”

“Don’t sound so surprised!”

Monty’s eyes were next scanning me up and down. “And by Jove, Jack, you do scrub up well. You look like a gentleman and I must say… almost human.” He laughed.

“Very funny, I feel like an alien, I tell ya.”

“Well I’ve dressed like your lot, it’s about time you experienced the life of Clement Montgomery.”

“Ah but you felt free being like us. I feel as restricted as a vicar in a dog collar. Don’t know how our Joe does it.”

“Stop whining, you look splendid. Come on you two, I’ve booked three rooms right beside one another and after we’ve settled in there shall be a fine feast.”

I said nothing. Was it such a good idea to let him pay for everything? Why was it when he finally let himself go a bit, I felt anxious as though all of this was building up inside of him and he could explode at any time?

He stood there however with the biggest smile on his face and I should’ve seen that as a positive sign that he was enjoying himself— the reclusive master out of his comfort zone, revelling once again in a new adventure. Yet I had a niggling feeling within me, a feeling that it was a show, as if a part of him was trying so hard to convince me this kind of life was what he craved. I knew I’d have to wait and see.

We checked into our hotel rooms which were the biggest I’d ever seen, had a nosy around at the luxurious space and then looked out at the great view from the windows on the upper floor. Finally, after exploring like excited urchins, Amy and I joined Monty in the dining hall where he ordered us a grand meal I’m not even sure I can pronounce. Amy and I kept eyeing each other throughout the dinner, I giving her instructions on which cutlery to use. Having waited tables when I was a lowly footman, I knew what to do and we had our own little hand language that evening as we made our way through an extravagant several course meal.

“Uh, Boys, you have sauce on your cheek,” Monty said as he wiped his mouth with a serviette.

I cheekily reached for the table cloth, pretending I was about to use it to wipe the sauce away.

“No!” 

I laughed. “As if I would. I’ve been working in service a while. I know the rules.” Instead I mockingly copied the master, dabbing the corners of my mouth like some gentleman with my nose in the air.

“How do you like the dinner?” he asked Amy, ignoring my joshing.

“Glorious,” Amy said, sitting up straight, pretending to have an upper-class accent and trying not to talk with her mouth full.

“And you Jack? And answer without the need to scorn something.”

I shrugged. “It was alright, yeah. No pie and mash, but it wasn’t bad. It was good in fact.”

That was as much praise as it was gonna get from me. I never over-did my enthusiasm.

Monty smirked. “Wait until dessert, absolute heaven.”

Amy and I were so used to serving in our jobs that this in all honesty was a real treat and I couldn’t quite believe all the expense of my master. I’d have to pay him back somehow, not with money I didn’t have, but something of even more value— like a kind gesture. I knew he’d appreciate something like that.

I admit it had been a pleasant evening, vastly different than my usual evenings out and I almost was sorry that it had to end with a confrontation with such a rogue of a man as Ellis Stevens. I had my doubts and was so intent on helping Monty and rushing in without really thinking that I began to wonder if it was the wisest course. But then the little devil Jack on my shoulder whispered that we should continue as planned. If only the little angel Jack appeared more often.

…

“You mean you’re leaving me here!” Amy said, standing on the bed in her hotel room as we stood next to it, trying to coax her down.

“Young lady, would you kindly step off that matress?”

“I will not.” She folded her arms like a petulant child. “You’re leaving me out of the fun.”

“It’s not going to be fun,” I said. “And we need you to wait here with all our things. Please, Amy.”

She looked down at me, frowned, and then threw herself dramatically on the bed until she was a mass of petticoats and curls. I could see Monty didn’t know where to look at the sight of a woman sprawled out on the bed like some kind of lady of the night.

Her expression softened and she directed the next part at Monty. “Alright, but please be careful.”

“Nothing’s going to happen,” I said, reassuring her as my hand tapped her shoulder.

By the time we stepped outside, it was biting cold and our breath was visible in the night air. The hotel looked splendid lit-up in all the electric bulbs and the streets around it continued on an elegant path until a walk across town brought us naturally to the unsavoury part, closer to that wretched house where only a fading streetlamp lit our way and we were forced to take an alleyway to avoid two drunks who were walking zig-zagged across the street, shouting and cursing as they passed. We were now in our dressed- down attire, Monty finally having removed the watch-fob, and we linked arms as we came outside the alley and found the house we had visited earlier.

In the darkness the house seemed even more grim, the boarded-up windows and bars making it appear a prison, and I winked at Monty, wondering what he was thinking. His eyes were observing everything around him and I could feel his tense fingers on my arm. I wondered whether he was suddenly going to shoot off into the bushes like a startled animal, though he’d been brave so far and I was incredibly in awe of how this reclusive, timid and moody gentleman could now follow me into the dirty and dark streets of the unfamiliar.

I knocked on the door and the same woman as before nodded for us to enter, motioning to the staircase to indicate he lived on the first floor. “Number three,” she shouted.

The stairs were rickety and it had loose floorboards and there was a strong stench of stale tobacco as we ascended. On the landing, identical doors greeted us where Monty pointed to number three. I put my hand out to knock but he took my hand away and knocked himself rather jauntily.

“This is my mess, I’ll go first.”

I tried to protest but he insisted and told me as he was my employer that I should do as he said. I reluctantly agreed and then the door opened and we were face to face with that man— Ellis Stevens, that filthy lying cheat with the filthy face to match. He was dressed in a rough brown suit and considering the money he’d been receiving from the Montgomery’s he was supposedly related to— it was clear little of it was used to improve his circumstances. Gambling was my best prediction at his losses and it angered me to think he’d been cheating Monty in this way.

“Bloody hell,” Ellis said as he looked at his former master standing in his doorway. “Why you here? I thought we had an arrangement?”

“I need to discuss that arrangement. May I come in?”

I stood in the darkness of the hallway, obscured, gathering he had not seen my face.

“Fine, be quick about it. Your bashful bodyguard coming in too?” He laughed, acknowledging my existence but not seeing my face.

“My manservant accompanies me everywhere as you should know.”

I followed Monty inside and as I stepped into the dim light of the room, I saw Ellis’ eyes narrow as they examined me and then widen as he clocked on to who I was. 

“Bloody hell,” he said again, circling me. “Jack Boys in the flesh. Small world. What you doing here?”

“Helping Sir to learn the truth of your game.”

He sniffed. “No game. Truth’s been told. We’re family, didn’t you know? Our daddy did the dirty and yours truly is the result. Aint I pretty coming from such fine stock?” 

I wanted to throttle him but regained my composure and loosened my clenched fists.

“So why you milking Sir for all he’s worth?”

Monty grabbed my arm. “Please, Boys, let me deal with this. I should have done this from the start. Herbert, I need to know the exact truth. I won’t even call the police or be angry, all I need is honesty. Are you really my brother?”

Ellis smiled and then took out a match from his pocket, striking it and slowly bringing it up to where a cigarette now hung from his lips. He lit the cigarette, took a long drag, and then exhaled slowly, watching as the smoke billowed around— blowing it in the direction of my face. He kept his eyes on me for several minutes.

“You telling him tales, Jack? Not very sporting of old friends.”

“Telling him of your crimes more like, mate.”

“He know about yours?”

Monty paced forward. “He is in the room and yes I do know about Boys’ past.”

He laughed a gravelly laugh. “Blimey, you can pick em, can’t you Montgomery? Two criminals from the same nick, end up at your house to work. You got a kink or something?”

Monty’s eyes blazed with anger but like me he suppressed the emotion. “Boys seems to think you becoming my manservant was no accident. He tells me you’re a con man.”

“Does he now?” He flicked some ash from his cigarette onto the floor.

“It’s not exactly a secret to those who know you,” I said. “So, tell him, tell him the truth.”

“If you have any sense of decency, you’ll bare all right now.”

Ellis laughed. “Where this sudden courage come from? I had you and your mother in the palm of my hand. Suddenly you’re chief inspector of Scotland Yard?”

“Boys has given me the confidence.”

He laughed mockingly. “Has he now?”

“Give it up,” I said. “We know what you’re about. We know you’re hardly using that money for making a better life.”

He hung his head low and I thought for a moment it was shame but then he looked up and his eyes were empty and he was smiling, unfazed and uncaring. 

“You got me. We’re not brothers, never were. It was all a scam see. Can’t blame me, short on cash as you can see.” He glanced at Monty. “Not like you or mother dearest will miss it. It’s an unfair system really, I’m the victim.”

“You’re never the victim.” I sneered at him. 

“So, Jack was right, you’re not my brother. I’ve been a fool,” Monty said as I noticed a tear in his eye. He had thought he had a brother, had clung onto the fantasy of someone else to love and protect and now it was all snatched away.

“It was easy to do. Find the right fool, fix a few papers, charm my way to get the job,” Ellis said smugly.

Monty folded his arms. “Forged papers I presume?”

“Some of ‘em. Some borrowed.”

“Borrowed?” I said as he puffed further on his cigarette and then stubbed it out on the floor alongside previous cigarette butts and ash.

“Herbert didn’t mind.” His lips curled into a mischievous smile.

“Herbert, but I thought you were Herbert?” Monty asked.

“Catch up mate, posh school don’t buy intelligence does it? I’m Ellis Stevens, but Herbert Carey isn’t just my alias, Herbert Carey is real.”

I suddenly had no control of my body and had Ellis by the scruff of the neck. “Don’t patronise him. Tell us the whole story. Who the hell is Herbert Carey?”

He pushed me away. “That’s what I’m doing if you’ll let me. Bloody Jack Boys, always talking, always playing saviour to the weak.” He looked at Monty. “How do you put up with him, dear brother?”

I could see Monty’s fists clenching. “Do not call me brother!” he suddenly shouted. “You have tried to besmirch my family name. You have taken money from me.”

Laughing, Ellis tutted. “Your name’s already besmirched me old mucker. That’s what I’m trying to tell ya. Your daddy was a naughty man and little Herbert Carey was the result. Sweet fella Herbie, told me the whole story once when we worked in the factory together. Silly beggar trusted me. Well, I suppose he didn’t really tell me voluntarily, more under the influence shall we say.”

Stammering, trying to find the words, Monty took a deep breath. I could tell he was anxious and stressed, his face red, his body rigid. “You’re telling me I really do have a brother?”

“Got it in one mate. He deserved me taking some of your family money when you think about it, smug little git. Too good for words. No one can be that nice and get away with it.”

“You bastard!” I said, “You could’ve told sir about this instead of lying your way into a job and his trust just to steal his money and take someone’s else’s identity. You could’ve done the right thing for once in your life.”

“Don’t go all moral on me, Jackie boy. You were in prison too. Prison ways never leave ya. I’m a victim of the system as I said.”

“Prison ways have left me.”

“I need to sit down,” Monty said, his knees weakening. I helped him to a seat where he sat, head in hands, shaking.

Ellis grabbed Monty’s arm and wrenched him from the chair. “I don’t want you sitting here. The thing is, how do I know you two aren’t gonna leave here and fetch some coppers, begin twittering like little birds?”

“You deserve to be found out,” I said.

He stood inches from my face. I could smell the tobacco. 

“If you tell on me, you’ll never know about the real Herbert, will you?”

“We can find out an honest way,” I shouted.

“Or I could just throw you out of my gaff, swear I never saw ya.”

“You think they’d believe your word against mine!” Monty suddenly shouted. “And the evidence, we can provide the police with the documents that you left hidden under the floorboards.”

“Can’t prove I left ‘em there.” For a second Ellis’ eyes glanced downward to the floor. “How clever you are. Which is why I’m very sorry about this when you came here so politely.”

“What you talking about?” I asked.

It was then I saw the flash of silver from the corner of my eye and saw the knife as Ellis rose it into our direction, swiping the air with it like he was some kind of caped crusader. The long knife was glistening under the one light bulb swinging from a string on the ceiling.

Monty and I took one pace back.

“There’s no need for that,” Monty said, his voice quivering and muffled. “We’ll leave. We won’t tell anyone about this, you have my word.”

“You better not or I’ll come back to yours at night and gut you like a fish.”

I waited for Monty to move toward the door and then stood my ground, like I had done in prison. I’d received a beating for it but he was a bully and I had to stand up to the bully. David and Goliath time.

“We need to be sure you’re after no more money,” I said.

“Can’t make promises.”

“Bastard.”

“Jack, come on,” Monty called.

I stared to move with him but Ellis followed until all three of us stood in the doorway not knowing whether to move, run, or talk ourselves out of the situation. We’d gone into it without any sense of a plan and in the rush of the moment, all I wanted was to grab the knife, disarm him, hurt him, knock him down with a punch. But people like Ellis didn’t play fair and violence was their only language. It was then I saw the blade coming for me, saw his pale hand tighten harder around the weapon, saw his mouth contorting with some strange glee as he made his move in this never-ending game. All bets were off, he was going for the kill. I froze. My legs wouldn’t move. I had no way to defend myself. I suddenly lost all sense of reality and I was taken back to the war in my mind— the trenches of that bloody war and there was a soldier, a bayonet and there was blood, nothing but blood, like a red river flowing down the mud, seeping into the soil, tainting it forever with death. 

“Jack!” Monty shouted, breaking me from my trance and leaping in front of me at the second the knife made contact and down he went onto the ground like a sack of spuds.

In the chaos, Ellis scarpered like the coward he was, dropping the knife in panic and the last I heard of him was his guilty footsteps running down the creaking staircase and out of the house.

I dropped to my knees where Monty lay beside me whimpering. I rolled him onto his back carefully and leaned him up against me, cradling him in my arms. I saw the blood seeping out like that red river in the trench but now it was on the carpet and his suit was stained red and so were my shaking hands and then in turn my stained conscience. 

“Oh my god, Monty, Monty!” I cried. “Are you still with me?”

“I’m here,” he croaked, staring up at me with those watering green eyes. “But right now I’d rather be in our in-between place, living the best life we could.”

“If we’re together, we’re there, mate,” I said. “You’re gonna be alright. I need to get some help and I’ll stem the flow of blood, I promise.” I got to work on his wound, remembering what I had learnt from war and then I wiped my eyes with my hands, realising I was crying. For only about the third time in my life, I was crying, weeping like a baby at the sight in front of me.

“Still with me?”

“Always Jack,” he murmured as though he were drifting away from me and into a dream.

“Jack? Jack?” I heard Amy’s voice calling from the door.

I’d never been so pleased to hear her voice! “Amy! Quick, in here, help!” I was frantic and so relieved that she’d ignored our concerns and followed us anyway.

When she saw the scene, she covered her face with her hand in shock. “What happened?”

“He stabbed him. He was going for me but the master got in front, was stabbed for me.”

“I’ll get help, Jack. I’ll get a doctor and a copper. You keep him warm and safe.” She squeezed my hand until blood transferred from me to her and she was wiping it on her dress, another reminder of our night out together. How quickly a wonderful evening dream had turned into a nightmare.

“Monty, I’m sorry,” I whispered. And I was. I’d never felt sorrier for anything in my entire life. This wasn’t another Jack and Monty adventure, it was a dangerous mission that I had led him into, all for that side of me that wanted to ignore settling down and run in the direction of the unknown. We hadn’t had a plan; we hadn’t been sensible. We’d blundered in.

Monty attempted to smile. “Our adventure has hit a little snag,” he said in what I think was possibly the bravest thing I’d ever heard someone say. 

He had been considered too nervous to fight in the war, too weak, too sensitive. But just because he had and was those things, didn’t mean he also wasn’t strong, brave and able to make a stand. Enduring life as he had was a strength in kind. He had now taken a stabbing for me, without even thinking. He didn’t run or even flinch— he did it all for me. I was overcome with emotions, guilt and pain and torment and I was agitated waiting for Amy and the help to arrive. All I could do was sit there, cradling him, trying to soothe him and keep him conscious, praying to any god that was listening that he could survive.

“Don’t think about leaving me, sir,” I whispered feeling the tears fall from my weary eyes.

He smiled. “I’ll try my best and do as you wish, my Jack.”

“Why did you bloody do it?”

“You’d have done the same for me.”

I would. I would have done the same for him no doubt in my mind. As he lay there in my arms, all I could picture was my first day at Linksfield, that moment when I walked into that house and saw him standing at the top of the stairs, looking down at me with such contempt. How much of a stranger he was to me them, how much of a hindrance? That place had started as my prison and he had stared out as the jailor.

But now he was my friend, as great a friend as any man could wish for. I was a man of a thousand acquaintances and a man with dozens of pals, but not one true friend until him. I felt dizzy in that moment, I could barely breathe.

“Jack!” It was Amy’s voice again and she was now standing in the doorway with a policeman and some kind of doctor in a white coat.

I was so relieved she’d come back. She placed her arms around me and helped me to my feet as I reluctantly left Monty in the care of another soul. Yes, they were a medical professional but I was his manservant and a manservant accompanied his master everywhere. I would be with Monty until the end whenever that end came, I would be there. I just prayed that that end wasn’t today.


	9. Guilt

My body was sweating, shaking, quivering— one minute as cold as ice and the next as hot as a burning fire. The knife cut into his flesh, blood streamed out, and Monty lay there, his eyelids closing. I couldn’t save him! I couldn’t save him! He was slipping away. I screamed. I cried out. 

My eyes began to open but my eyelids were sticky and partly fused together, and so I waited a few moments for them to open widely and finally make sense of the world around me. I realised I was in my bed in the attic room, the blanket now around my ankles, obviously having woken from a terrible dream. A dream it may have been but it contained so many truths.

“I’m awake, I’m awake,” I told myself over and over and when I had calmed down, I resigned myself to the working world even if it was only four-thirty a.m. and far too early to be up and about like a lowly kitchen maid. 

I could think of little else to do however and couldn’t sleep so I ventured down the staircase and made my way to Monty’s room, noticing there was a light streaming from under the door. I knocked quietly but there was no answer, so I slowly crept inside. He was asleep, sitting up in his blanket, fallen into his slumber once again with the light on. He hadn’t slept in the dark for the two weeks since his stabbing and I can’t say I blamed him. Every night since the incident I had barely slept a wink, consumed by nightmares and ridden with guilt.

I sat down upon the chair by the window and tried not to wake him, but a creak in the leather did just that.

His eyes found mine. “Jack, is that you?” He tried to move but I told him to be careful, scared that even the slightest movement would cause his stitches to split him open like a sausage. 

“Yeah, it’s me, mate, checking you’re alright.”

“As every other moment you’ve asked me, I’m fine, Jack. My side is painful and it’s dreadfully hard to sleep at times, but I’m quite well all things considered. There’s not even a sign of infection.”

I looked down. “It could have been so much worse.”

I’d said it so many times since he’d left that hospital and went back to his own bed at Linksfield. Oh how it could’ve been so much worse. The knife had thankfully missed his vital organs and he enjoyed regaling everyone with stories of how he bravely confronted a bully and fought for his cause. I think he really did think he was David against Goliath. The household had become fiercely protective of him and all, even his mother, molly-coddled him for the first several days, aware he could easily have been lost in that one single foolish evening.

And with Monty’s story of how he confronted the ex-servant claiming to be his brother who turned out not to be, suddenly I couldn’t help but feel as though he was the heroic master and I was the cowardly servant. He was the one who reluctantly rode his horse into the valley of death and emerged the victor and I was the one who raced his troops into battle without thinking and had blood on my hands.

I hadn’t lost him, no, but I blamed myself for his suffering. And I also sensed the atmosphere in the household had changed, that everyone acted differently towards me as though they knew I had led him to danger and that the reclusive Clement Montgomery could never have ventured to that town all by himself.

“Jack, I do think you’re the one who’s suffering. You’ve barely left the house in days. It’s so unlike you.”

Oh how things had changed. But going out, how it felt like so many eyes were upon me, how even strangers who knew nothing of the incident were somehow whispering and pointing at me. The paranoia was strong.

I rubbed my eyes. “Sorry, I guess I’m tired.” I didn’t want to tell him I wasn’t going out so I could look after him.

“I survived, Jack, think on that.”

“How can you worry so much all the time and when something like this happens you take it in your stride?”

He winced as he attempted to get comfortable. “I don’t think I’m as good as all that. You know the trouble I’ve had thinking back on that horrid night. I have the same terrible dreams as you do and I still remember that feeling of slipping away, losing consciousness. Terrifying. I suppose what it is… is that I’ve spent my whole life worrying about something happening and now it has, it’s just made me want to live life more, when I’m better at least. I don’t mean I suddenly want to do things that are un-like me but just more than before, baby steps as it were. And not to mention my mind is occupied with thoughts all about the real Herbert Carey. How can I lay around being pitiful when I have a brother out there, one who may need me?”

“I think we should approach that with trepidation,” I said, letting out a loud yawn.

“Of course, of course. I telephoned my solicitor yesterday. He’s looking into it promptly. He worked closely with father’s people for years so I think something will come of it. We’ll take precautions this time.”

I hardly heard his last sentence as my eyes closed wearily and the next thing I knew, it was six-thirty and Monty was throwing a pillow at my head.

“Sir?” I said, instinctively as I awoke.

“You were snoring like a pig. Now come, it’s morning, time for you to get up and attend to me.”

“I fell asleep in your chair?”

He nodded. “Quite ungallantly one might add.”

“Why didn’t you wake me?”

“Tried. You’re jolly hard to wake up.”

“I’m mortified. I’ll get dressed and come straight back to see to your needs.”

“Just wash yourself and get some breakfast first, you look frightful, Boys. You look worse than me and I’ve been stabbed.”

After I’d shaved and strip-washed for quickness, I headed downstairs for my much-needed black tea. When I got to the table, Mrs. Orwell placed a bowl of porridge down loudly in front of me.

“Keep your strength up.” How could such a kind gesture be said with such an air of contempt?

I pushed the bowl away, heaving slightly at the sight of the thick sloppy mess. “I can’t eat all that, I’m afraid. Belly’s still not settled. Tea will be fine.”

“Hmm.” She moved the bowl away, tutted most obviously and resumed her duties. Meanwhile, Frank and Doris smiled at me from the other side of the table but neither said a word.

“Cat got your tongues this morning?” I asked.

Frank’s hand patted my shoulder as he got up from his chair. “Just so you know, Jack, we never blamed you.”

“No, you’re a good sort of man,” Doris added.

“Thank you.” But when they’d left I sensed the stern presence of Mary Boyle opposite me, her eyes on her sewing— but her rigid pose, the way she calmly completed her task, the chilly silence, it was all too obvious she was judging me without even looking. 

“You something to say?” I snapped without thinking.

“Not as such, though being right can be satisfying.” Her eyes briefly met mine.

“You wanted the master to get hurt then eh?”

“Me? No?”

“Then you think I wanted it?” I slammed my fist on the table but she remained cool and unnerved.

“Maybe not, but often the ones who care the most for us hurt us worst of all.”

I was about to reply when Mrs. Orwell asked Boyle to fetch something and I was relieved because another moment and my tea cup was about to fly across the room. I knew there was truth in all their unsaid accusations but it hurt me to know I’d gone from popular house mate to the strange one they wanted to avoid or question.

I gulped down my tea as quickly as possible and found myself running up the staircase, two at a time just to get away from the chilly servants’ hall. As I reached the door at the top, I collided with Lady Rosamund and ‘Lady’ Prudence who were arriving for breakfast.

“Why such a hurry, Boys?” Rosamund asked.

“Wanted to get upstairs and make sure the master’s alright,” I said, barely looking them in the eyes.

Like Boyle, Monty’s mother said nothing to directly accuse me, but since the incident had hardly acknowledged my existence and I served her as though a ghost unable to interact. It was clear she blamed me too.

By the time I’d dressed the master and escorted him downstairs carefully (he was quite determined to finally eat in the dining room), Rosamund and his mother were already tucking into their scrambled eggs. 

As soon as he entered the room, Rosamund was by his side helping him into a chair. “Clement, you have more colour in your cheeks. Any pain?”

“Not too bad, Rosie. Honestly, you’ve been here a fortnight, you really don’t have to stay here just for me.”

“Nonsense you’re my little brother,” she said and then winked at me. “Besides where can one find a valet so attractive as Boys?”

Monty laughed. “Keep off, Rosie!”

I wished they stopped talking about me as if I were a piece of uneven clifftop.

…

I was glad to escape to the park that afternoon for some much-needed fresh air. After days of not venturing outside, I had finally plucked up the courage to see people, to step through them, to watch them, to be among them, head held high. When I reached the other side of the park, I spied none other than Frank and Doris walking hand in hand along the pathway leading to the river. Had I been so preoccupied with Monty’s injury that I’d not even noticed such a development?

Knowing they’d be embarrassed to see me, I hurried away from their view and headed to the safety and sanctuary of the Brothers in Arms pub. Amy was standing behind bar and smiled when she saw me.

“Glad you’re here, Jack. Haven’t seen you since the hospital. How’s Clement getting on?”

“He’s alright. He’ll live, no thanks to me.”

She sighed and poured me a drink and placed it down harshly on the counter the way Mrs. Orwell had done with the breakfast earlier that day.

“And how is moping about it helping him? Why the self-pity? You’re Jack Boys aint ya? And Jack Boys is a risk taker. We try to stop you but you prove it’s in your nature.”

I took a big gulp of the beer. “I’m finally seeing Jack Boys from outside myself.”

“Clement Montgomery nearly died and it’s shaken you up good and proper but that’s natural. But how’s he doing mentally speaking?”

“Won’t talk about it much.”

“Nor will you. It took me days to get a word out of you at that hospital.”

I ignored her observation. “He says he has dreams and that but he’s taken his mind off it with the pursuit of the real brother Herbert. But he’s not mentioned that Ellis Stevens is out there somewhere.”

“He’s glad to be alive, Jack, and excited to have this brother. Maybe he don’t want to think of Ellis. Anyway, that bastard’s probably long gone.”

“Yeah suppose.”

“You could help him find Herbert.”

“Look where that got me last time. It’s better if I just stay out of people’s lives.”

“But he’s your friend.”

“Yeah, well, whatever he is, I’m still his servant and I shouldn’t try to be anything else. I think I’ve overstepped my position, and speaking of which, he doesn’t even know I’m in this pub. I should get back.”

…

It was silent when I arrived back at Linksfield, deathly so, and I wondered if anyone had noticed how long I’d been out gallivanting. Mrs. Orwell was busy stirring a giant pot and looked like some witch with a cauldron in the darkness. Mary Boyle was cleaning away some materials at the table and Frank and Doris hadn’t returned yet— must’ve still been out canoodling. I didn’t care for a conversation with Boyle or Orwell so I tiptoed past the servants’ hall and began to make my way to Monty’s study where I assumed he would reside for the remainder of the day. As I stood outside the door which was slightly ajar, I could hear voices and saw Prudence sitting on a chair opposite her son. How unusual it was to see her in the study! As I was a very curious fella, you couldn’t really blame me for eavesdropping and spying on my employers. It was my right to find out if I was in for the chop.

“Alright, alright, Clement,” I heard Prudence say. “If you say that Boys didn’t have anything to do with it then I’ll take your word for it, though I find it hard to believe he didn’t at least encourage your recent behaviour.”

“I was adamant about finding the truth.”

“But how did you know Herbert was really this Ellis Stevens rogue?”

There was a pause, a sudden awkward silence. “I really can’t tell you that, Mother. But all you need to know is that the man who came into our home and took our money was not the real Herbert. He used us.”

Suddenly Prudence sighed deeply. “A deplorable human. But the truth remains that you do still have a brother then?” 

Very bizarrely Monty bent forward and placed his mother’s hands in his own. “I’m sorry that this news about father’s behaviour hurts you. You must feel awfully betrayed.”

My eyes widened at hearing a sob from her. I don’t think I’d ever seen an ounce of emotion from her that wasn’t some form of irritation. I suppose we were all more than the person we presented in front of everyone.

“I always suspected…you know?” she said, her voice cracking.

“I am sorry mother, I…” he stammered slightly. I knew how difficult it was for him to open up to someone he was usually so distant from. “Well, I shouldn’t have put father on some pedestal but somehow I can’t seem to feel angry with him. I suppose it’s a case of hating the deed rather than the person.”

“Well I can do that for the both of us,” she said. “And because of your father’s deed we have been cruelly conned, made fools of, and worst of all my own son was…” she supressed another sob. “My son was attacked most brutally. I nearly lost you, Clement.”

“Mother, are you crying?”

“Don’t be absurd boy, I never allow myself to cry.” She sniffed then and got to her feet and through the gap I saw her remove all emotion from her features and place her hand ever so lightly on his shoulder. How they shared such little intimacy but at the same time so much was said that needed to. I hid as I saw her approaching the door.

She left in a hurry and was up the stairs much faster than I’d expect from a woman of her age. I stood outside the study, unsure whether to go inside, but Monty had seen me.

“Eavesdropping were you, Boys?”

“No, no, not intentionally, just sort of heard stuff as I was passing most casually,” I said as I made my way inside and stood at his desk.

His eyebrow rose. “Hmm. Look, Jack, at least all this Herbert business is now out in the open, well, within the family and household anyway. Now mother and Rosamund know the details, it’ll be easier for us to seek the truth. Shall we talk for a bit?” He leaned away from me as I neared. “Good grief, you’ve not been running errands. You’ve been at that pub, haven’t you? You smell like a brewery.”

“Just one pint I swear.” 

“You really do take the biscuit sometimes. Whatever shall I do with you?”

“Sack me? It’s what I deserve.”

“So full of self-pity recently. Don’t be absurd, I’m not sacking you. A Jack and Monty adventure to discover the truth about my brother can hardly happen without both Jack and Monty now can it? Now, come cheer me up, stop disobeying me. I’m darned bored. Any poetry on you?”

“Need a laugh do ya?”

“Ah…is the poetry not going well?”

“Packed it in. Can’t do it for toffee.”

“No reason to give in so soon. Improvement, improvement, my boy.”

“It’s not like your wound healing, Monty. You know that’ll get better eventually, my poetry won’t.”

“Nonsense! But if it upsets you, we’ll speak of it only when you bring it up.”

He had a mischievous look in his eye then, as if he was planning something. Ever since the incident, he’d been different, so open and dare I say more alive than he had ever been? Why was life so like that? Why did it take him to nearly die, for me to see him lying in a pool of blood, for him to suddenly want to live life? Why did we do this? Why did I, all those years ago, commit a crime knowing I’d end up in the one place I’d dread, a prison where I couldn’t roam free? People were enigmas and Jack and Monty were the two biggest mysteries of all.

“Anyway, sit down, Jack, you’re making the place look untidy,” he said as he moved away from the desk and made himself comfortable on his usual armchair.

I was about to sit in the hard chair I was usually assigned to when he stopped me and motioned to the other armchair, the soft one next to it. I slowly sat down upon the cushion. It felt so soft. It felt so therapeutic. I didn’t want to ever move. If Mrs. Orwell could have seen me, she’d have said I had no place sitting down in the presence of my betters but a chair was a chair and everyone had the right to feel comfortable.

I smiled. “Funny isn’t it?”

“What is?”

“You and me. Talking like equals and all that. Do you think that’s alright?”

“Well as I said when you first came here, it’s a peculiar intimacy between man and servant and I’d rather be friends with mine if I can. When Carey or dare I say Stevens was fulfilling the role, I felt so awkward. I never knew what to say to him.”

“Maybe because you knew deep down that it was a fake persona? You couldn’t get to know the real him. Mind you, most employers I’ve had never knew the real me. So, what was that old geezer like, the one who worked here for years?”

“He was pleasant, good worker. Didn’t talk back!” He directed that part at me. “I got used to him I suppose. He was my man for many years after I left university, but I couldn’t talk to him like we do, couldn’t confide in him, you know?”

“The whole thought of having someone wash me and do all my intimates makes me shudder!”

He laughed. “At university we had none of that. I started to get use to the independence.”

“Oh yes, so independent! Under the watchful eyes of superiors?”

“That’s true.”

“So, we do share one thing in common?”

He laughed. “Whiskey, Jack?”

“I shouldn’t. Been at the pub. And I’ve work to do. I’m still your servant, aint I?”

“Good answer. And how’s Amy? I hope she isn’t traumatised by our last meeting?”

“She’s seen more blood on the floor of a Friday night than your stabbing.”

Monty looked at me, his face suddenly drained of colour. “Thanks for reminding me of the blood.”

“I’m sorry, didn’t think.”

“No, you rarely do. Well, what did her partner make of everything that happened?”

“I wouldn’t mention him, he’s not a nice bloke by all accounts. If she knows what’s good for her, she’ll keep quiet.”

“Shame, she deserves better. A lovely woman.”

“She had a soft spot for you.”

“Had? Past tense?”

“Came to her senses.” I snorted.

“Well I’m relieved, it’s never easy being the object of one’s affections that you don’t reciprocate.”

“You’re telling me. I’ve been trying for months to let down poor Doris, been all anxious about it and then today I saw her in the park holding hands with Frank. Looks like we’ve both lost our female attention, mate.”

“My word, how did those two finally get together?”

“No idea but I’ll be finding out.”

“Do report back.”

“I never had you as one for the gossip of love lives especially of those in your employ.”

“A recluse must keep entertained one way or another and just so long as it’s not Rosamund’s extra marital love life or indeed young Louisa’s, or even father’s for that matter. Curse the love life, Jack, it only brings problems.”

That I agreed with. I had never been lucky in love or really understood it and I could count the amount of romantic attachments I’d had on one hand. It wasn’t that I was against the concept, I very much invited intimacy with someone but how did someone get to that point? Most of the time it never felt right. Most of the time there was never a connection.

Doris had been a girl who I’d never felt right about romantically and as I entered the boot room to fetch some polish for the master’s shoes, she and Frank were inside the room where Doris sat polishing the shoes of Lady Rosamund and Frank was standing beside her, whispering in her ear as I entered. I smirked at their sudden embarrassment as Doris averted my gaze and Frank stepped away and stood like a spare part with nothing in his hands to clean.

I wasn’t planning on sitting down but their faces made me want to and so I got comfortable on a stool, grabbed a brush and polish and began rubbing the master’s boots. “Does anyone else know?” I said quietly, trying not to smirk, not looking at them.

“Know what?” Frank replied. His face in that moment looked like Monty whenever he was terrified of something, like a startled deer about to race away.

“That you two are finally an item.” I gave them both full eye contact.

Leaping up from her chair, Doris shrieked. “However did you know? Oh goodness! I thought we’d been discreet.”

“It’s my amazing powers of observation.”

“So, you’re Sherlock Holmes now are ya?” Frank said.

“Hardly. Didn’t need to be Holmes to see the signs…that and the fact I saw you in the park together. You weren’t very discreet, no. How long’s it been going on?”

Doris looked down shyly. “Frank asked me to the pictures a couple of weeks ago and we went from there. The master was hurt so we didn’t want to tell everyone right away. You’re not mad, are you, Jack?”

I laughed. “Mad? I’m happy for you. I thought you were both annoyed with me for my involvement in the stabbing. I’ve been going loopy.”

Frank smiled. “Told ya, we don’t blame you, none of us.”

“Except Boyle.”

“Well, she lives for drama,” he replied.

“In that case, congratulations,” I said, shaking Frank’s hand. “I wish you all the best. Are you gonna do the honourable thing and marry her?”

I’d never seen Frank’s cheeks flush so. He shook me away. “You make it sound like I’ve got her in trouble!”

“Have you?” My eyebrow rose.

“Jack!” Doris said. “You’re so naughty. Frank has been perfectly honourable.”

He nodded in agreement, flashing his best smile for his new betrothed. She grinned happily back at him and I sat like a gooseberry waiting for one of them to say or do something.

“Blast, I’ve got to get back to work,” Frank said. “Mrs. Orwell will be right mad if I don’t finish shining the silverware.”

He was about to kiss Doris but sensing I was watching he merely smiled at her, bowed at me for some unknown reason and then scurried from the room. We both stood to watch him leave and so when he was gone I planted a kiss on her cheek. “You chose the right man.”

“Oh Jack!” She stood on her tiptoes and kissed my cheek in return. “Sorry for being forward but it’s my last chance to kiss the dangerous Jack Boys.” She giggled.

Dangerous? Did she really see me as not only a rebel but as dangerous to be around? Did I really give off the feeling that I was unsafe to be with? Had my reckless ways turned her away from me as a potential love interest? I had some thinking to do.

“Guess you wouldn’t want to marry a dangerous old rogue like me anymore then?”

She looked down. “It did scare me a bit, Jack. We’re so different, you and me. I was blind where you’re concerned. We’d never have fitted. But Frank and I understand each other. You should find someone who understands you.”

I had no response.

She smiled, carried the shoes from the room and I stood there silently for several moments, wondering why I was suddenly feeling so empty, as though it were some kind of rejection. It was ridiculous, Doris was more of a sister than a love interest so why was it suddenly so disheartening that she’d pledged her heart to another? Was the news that she and Frank were to settle down somehow making me envious?

I decided a quick cigarette was in order so went out the back door for a breather. Evening had begun and hints of mysterious and fantastical purple graced the fading blue sky of day. As I stared at the view, lost in its beauty, I took a drag from my cigarette, flicked the ash on the ground and listened to the silence for a moment. It was peaceful, tranquil and in that moment my life felt devoid of any worry. 

That was until I heard a shuffling sound by the back gate. I moved away slightly, firmly on edge, suddenly feeling my heartbeat race at the prospect of another encounter with the fugitive Ellis Stevens. In the growing shadows I couldn’t see him but I heard a rustling in the bushes and then to my blessed relief saw not the flash of a silver knife but instead the flash of golden fur and realised it was a harmless dog greeting me, not some vicious criminal.

“Hello there,” I said as the creature approached. It whimpered and I could see it had a bleeding paw. “Poor thing, what’s happened to you? Let’s get you cleaned up.” 

The dog looked well cared for and had a very playful temperament. I stroked its long fur which was a little muddy and then rubbed its belly. “Let’s get you sorted out,” I said, not sure where to take the dog but deciding on the shed where I could fetch a tin bath and clean the wound. 

As I held the dog in my arms, the image took me back to that fortnight ago on that awful night, cradling Monty in that way, praying to any God to save the man that I’d come to appreciate and respect. This dog even had a cut paw and the sad eyes just like my master and I couldn’t help but feel that someone was sending me a sign or a message. I didn’t even know what to think. 

I fetched Frank and Doris to help me and together we cleaned the dog— a girl as it turns out— and tended to her paw with a bandage. After she was clean and fresh, I snuck her up to my room for the night, despite my friends’ protestations and instead of a girlfriend, I hid the animal at my bed. She sat on the cover beside me, looking up at me with those big sad eyes and I couldn’t resist doing whatever she wished. She was the animal but I seemed to be following her orders. She tried to bark so I had to comfort her, unkeen for Monty ‘the cat person’ to find out, unkeen for him to know that I’d done this without consulting him first. But boy she was a beautiful dog with luscious fur and the sweetest temperament. I was in love. I stroked her, kissing her head.

“You love me, eh girl?” I said. “Glad someone does.”

I fell asleep with her at my feet and slept nightmare free the whole night. I adored this dog but she wasn’t mine and I had a feeling that her owner was nearby ready to take her from me.

…

I decided to keep the dog hidden for the time being, unwilling to let her go just yet. I knew I’d have to tell Monty eventually but as I entered his bedroom to dress him the next morning, he was sniffing me as I reached his side.

“Uh…I don’t mean to be rude, Jack, but you do…well…rather pong a bit.”

I was thankful this was said to me after I had acquired the dog and not before. “Sorry, didn’t have time for a bath.” 

“Fine. But you will take one later, yes?”

I nodded.

He tapped his foot impatiently. “Anyway, never mind that, you did promise me details on young Frank and Doris’ courtship.”

I laughed. “Oh that! You old gossip! Well you’ll be pleased to know that the two lovebirds have happily been courting for the past few weeks. Whilst we’ve been living a nightmare, they’ve been existing in a daydream. Can’t take their eyes off each other, gonna get hitched and everything.”

“I am glad. This household needs some wholesome news and how wonderful that two people should come together over a bond of books. And unlike my father, one hopes Frank shall remain devoted to Doris.”

“I don’t think there’s any doubt of that.”

“Jack, one thing?”

“Yes?”

“I don’t mean to interfere but there were some peculiar noises coming from your room last night. Did you have anyone up there with you?”

I averted his gaze. I shrugged. “Uh…just Mrs. Orwell.” I lied. Hers was the first name that came to me.

“I beg your pardon?”

“She was barking orders at me!”

“Sorry?”

“I mean, she came up to tell me off for not cleaning something properly. And you know how loud her footsteps are for someone so dainty.”

“Hmm. I think I understand you well enough to know when you’re lying. Care to tell me the truth?”

“Later alright? I swear I’ll tell all later. It’s nothing bad I promise.”

“Hmm.”

When I got downstairs to the servants’ hall, I heard a tap on the door and opened it to find young Henry the postie carrying a bundle of letters and a parcel in his arms.

“For Frank?” I said, eyeing up the parcel.

“Another book I suspect,” he replied. “And how’s you, Jack?”

“I’m alright, thanks, getting there.” Why did I feel like he was staring at me, expecting me to say something about that dreadful night?

“The master any better?”

Everyone knew what had happened. It’d gone round the whole town. I wondered how Monty’s mother would cope with the news that her husband’s secret may well be in the open.

He passed me the letters, one of which looked official and had the stamp and seal of Monty’s solicitors. “Hmm? Yes, he’s doing much better, thanks mate. How have you been?”

“Not too bad, not too bad. Say I didn’t know you had a dog.”

“What, how do you know?”

He pointed to the floor beside me. “He’s standing right there.”

“Bloody hell.” I looked down at her and folded my arms. “Naughty Blossom. What did I say about following me downstairs?”

“Guess she doesn’t listen to her master neither,” Henry joked. “But isn’t she a beauty?” He leant down and stroked her. The dog appreciated the attention once she realised the postman wasn’t a threat. “She the new Montgomery pet?”

“Not exactly. Sir’s more of a cat person.”

“Secret pet is she?”

He laughed, waved goodbye and headed on his merry way.

I looked at Blossom. “Come on you, back upstairs.” I made sure the hallway was empty and then shooed her inside, watching as she kept to my side and followed me up the servants’ staircase far more obediently than I. When we reached the main door at the top, I was all ready to congratulate myself at not being seen when I sensed someone standing behind me as I approached the upper house staircase. I saw his shadow form on the wall.

“Boys?” I heard his strong stern voice.

I spun around acting innocent. “Sir?”

“Why is there a dog in my hallway?”

I pointed at Blossom who was panting heavily. “A dog?” I looked at her. “Yes, a dog is here to which I have a good explanation.”

He folded his arms. “So, this explains the noise upstairs last night and the smell of you this morning. I am slightly relieved it’s not your natural odour.”

“Before I get into that, a letter came for you.” I placed the envelope into his palm and started leading Blossom up the stairs.

“Uh…uh Boys!” he called, summoning me like I was the dog on a training course.

“Yes?”

He pointed at the floor in front of him, clicking his fingers. “Come here now, I want an explanation.”

I begrudgingly stepped towards him and sighed. “Look, she’s just a dog that wandered in yesterday. I’m sure her owner will come, she just hurt her paw and my heart went to her. There’s no reason to make a big fuss.”

He looked down at her. “I see.” He stroked her head. “Golden retriever, my father’s favourite breed.”

I started to walk away again.

“Jack, I haven’t finished!”

“Haven’t you got your letter to read, looks important?”

He waved his hand at me. “Wait there!” He opened it and I watched as his eyes scanned the piece of paper and then he folded it delicately and placed it into his pocket. He stared at me for a moment before saying anything. “Well that’s that.”

“Bloody hell, what is?”

“That was my solicitor, he has information regarding my real brother. He knows where he is, wants me to go to the office tomorrow to go through some things.”

“You want me to come with you?”

“I don’t know.”

But then there was a ring at the front doorbell and we both looked to its direction, noticing the outline of a man. Blossom barked and raced to the front door and instinctively Monty and I followed her. I opened the door and there stood a tall handsome man in a long coat and a fine hat.

“I’m dreadfully sorry to disturb,” he said revealing a mixed accent of both English and American. I couldn’t help but notice Blossom’s reaction to the man. She ran to him and he leaned down to smother her with cuddles. “This is my dog.”

“Your dog eh?” Monty asked.

“I lost her last night on the next street, been searching for her.”

“How do we know she’s yours?” I said, despite the fact it was clearly obvious the dog was smitten with the man. I suppose I didn’t want her to go.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet, showing us a photograph of himself with the dog. “I believe this should convince you.”

I looked at Monty and he nodded in agreement. Blossom had an owner. Blossom wasn’t even Blossom.

“Well, let the man inside, Jack.”

I reluctantly showed him into the hall, taking his coat and hat and watched as he followed Monty into the study. He seemed to be nosing around as he did, his eyes scanning over pictures and ornaments. Blossom or whatever her name was followed beside him.

“That’s kind of you,” he said as I quickly came into the room behind them. “Thanks for taking care of her.”

“Not a problem,” I said. “She’s a fine dog.”

“By the way,” Monty said. “What’s your name?”

He reached out his hand. “It’s Carey,” he said. “Herbert Carey.”


	10. Changes

The real Herbert Carey who had walked into our lives with the event of a simple lost dog, was shown to a chair in the study, and there he sat awkwardly, legs crossed, warm smile, his leg shaking, his hands clutching the drink Frank had fetched for him. I glanced at Monty, wondering when he was going to mention what I’d been dying to say but he didn’t, instead he engaged Herbert in idle small talk for a while, discussing the weather, the dog, the house— anything but what he should’ve been discussing. And as for Herbert, he seemed deeply interested in the house itself and now it was obvious why. I watched as his eyes fixed on the photo frame of Edward Montgomery and you didn’t need to be a mind reader to know that Herbert knew him. He knew this house, he knew its location, he knew the father. Herbert had known all along. 

It was strange watching the two men converse, each knowing the other but both too shy to come forward and admit it. They were alike in many ways I observed as I watched them talk. They moved their hands theatrically in the same manner when they spoke and they ran their fingers through their equally thick locks when they appeared nervous. They may not have been raised together but you would’ve thought they’d have spent their whole lives beside one another.

“I think you both need to say what’s on your mind,” I finally said. It burst out of me. Monty certainly was never going to bring it up. I had no choice!

And it was then that the whole truth came spilling out. Monty revealed he knew Herbert was his brother, announcing how he’d discovered it and how we’d encountered Ellis Stevens on our little dangerous adventure though we hadn’t quite discovered where the real Herbert was. And Herbert was deeply apologetic, telling Monty how he’d known their father only to some minor level, how he’d been raised by an adopted family, how he’d kept in touch with his father through brief visits and letters. But since the death, Herbert had wondered what to do and had been reluctant to come to Linksfield and admit the truth, unkeen for Monty and Rosamund’s world to be turned upside down.

Herbert had been living in America. Had his own life and work over there—and a family too—wife, children, nice house. He visited England every year and when he did, he walked to Linksfield, hiding in the shadows, taking the dog of his adopted father for a walk, venturing to the house of the brother he so longed to meet. He admitted to Monty he’d been reluctant to visit in case of shattering his whole world. But now Herbert breathed a sigh of relief. Everyone knew and he could talk about his life at last and he could recognise the brother and sister he’d never spoken to and repair some of the damage been caused by years of lies.

When Herbert left the house after several hours of deep discussion, Linksfield was silent. He had refused a bed for the night and instead trundled back to his hotel in the city, I suspected to let the news sink in but he gave Monty the hotel telephone number and soon another meeting was arranged between newly acquainted half-brothers. Everything had now changed— the master had a real-life brother and the news of another Montgomery son was soon to reach town—it was unlikely to be kept secret once people put two and two together. Life at Linksfield would be different therein.

And with all the dramatic news to take in, Monty was understandably overwhelmed, retiring to his bed for two days, only speaking briefly to his mother and Rosamund about what had occurred. Rosamund was excited by the changes, but the mother, hurt by the lies of her husband, was so out of sorts that she also confined herself to her room, ill, tired and alone. The next few days in the house were eerily silent.

Monty had been so full of life and had been happy to have finally met Herbert. He hadn’t even had to have the anxiety-inducing meeting with the solicitor (though the solicitor was called and told the whole story.) Despite his initial positivity at the developments in his life, he descended into one of his black moods, no longer the wounded survivor with sympathy and love from a new family member but a startled lamb, wrapped in his bed covers and afraid of something that was unexplainable. 

One cold morning I caught him sitting in the bath naked, having cut himself on his forearm next to the other scars that ranged from newish to years old. The blood from his arm had dripped into the water, causing the bathwater to look like a vampire’s lair. 

I gasped and pulled him out of the bath as quickly as I could, wrapping him in a warm towel and then carefully bandaging his wound. Luckily the cut wasn’t as deep as I imagined but I wondered how he’d done it when I’d hidden all the razors in the house. I felt the tears rise in my eyes. I’d nearly lost him once, why was he doing this to me again? The memories of his stabbing came flooding back and I wanted to cry out, be angry with him for doing this to me, for making me witness such a sight as him cut open in the bathtub.

I was so furious with him and yet at the same time, my heart went out to him. I pitied him. It wasn’t his fault. For some reason unknown to me, he hated himself. If only he could see how much he meant to others.

I led him to his bed and placed him into a dressing gown but he was unresponsive to me, moving slowly like he was the living dead. I moved the stray strands of hair from his eyes but he looked so vacant. It seemed no matter whether he felt happy or sad, whether bad news greeted him or good news— the demons would not leave his side.

“Monty, speak to me, are you alright?” It was a stupid thing to say but I had no idea what to say to help. I’d never been good at discussing emotional problems.

He looked at me briefly. “Don’t worry about me, Jack,” he said blankly. “I’m more worried about mother.”

“Don’t worry, she won’t know of this, and I’ll make sure she’s checked on. The doctor’s coming to see her soon. For now, I’m more worried about you. You hurt yourself again, Monty.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Never mind that. I’ll get the doc to see you as well.”

He grabbed my arm, holding tightly. “Please, Jack, they’ll send me away, don’t let the doctor see me like this.”

“Bloody idiot, you think I’d ever let someone send you away? You, my friend, are stuck with old Jack Boys, got it?”

“Why are you so good to me?” he whispered.

“Why are you so bad to yourself?”

“I don’t deserve any kindness.”

I could feel my fists tensing into balls and I couldn’t help but raise my voice. “Well, if you’re just going to be stupid!”

He huffed. “You know who you’re talking to, Boys?”

“Boys now is it? Yes, I know who I’m talking to— I’m speaking to my master who is a bloody riddle, bloody being the operative word. You may hate yourself, sir, but don’t expect me to despise you. And as for deserving kindness, you deserve it just as much as anyone else. God, how can I get through to you?” I didn’t want to be angry with him, tried so hard not to but he had every capacity to be happy.

I softened then, not caring to end our conversation on bad words. “I’m sorry I shouted.”

“Me too.”

“We want you feeling better for when you have that meeting with Herbert. You do still want to see him, don’t you?”

He smiled for a moment. “I do. He seems such a lovely man.”

“He’s so similar to you, you know?”

“We’ve been on the Earth together all this time and we’ve only just met,” Monty said. “You think we’re alike, by George.” His interest piqued. “He’s done well for himself, hasn’t he? You know in some strange way I’m rather envious of him. He had none of my privilege yet he had made so much more of himself.”

“Come on you,” I said, “we need to get some food inside you and then we can talk more about your brother.”

…

I sat down at the kitchen table in the servants’ hall taking a deep breath as Mrs. Orwell kindly put a cup of tea in front of me.

“You’re looking pale, Mr. Boys. Are you taking care of yourself?”

I shrugged. “Don’t have the time.”

She pulled out a chair, sat opposite and she grabbed my hands, placing them in her own.

“I’ve misjudged you a little, luvvie,” she said in that motherly way she usually reserved for Frank or Doris. “You’ve done the master a world of good.”

“I doesn’t feel like it when….well… when he hurts himself in the way he does.”

“That’s not your fault, Mr. Boys. I’ve known the master since he was a boy. He has troubles, always has done, but I tell you this, even with his dark moods and the wobbles from time to time, I’ve not seen him as happy and out of himself as when he’s with you. You’ve shown him true friendship my dear and that’s rare between classes. Did you ever think that would happen eh? I don’t always approve of your methods mind. Sometimes you’re a bit too familiar and very naughty but anyone can see you’ve done some good.”

I laughed. “Thank you. And yeah, civil with a toff! I’d have run for the hills if I’d known.”

She pushed a plate of biscuits in my direction. “Get these inside you.”

It was at that moment that Frank and Doris entered the kitchen clearly not realising we were there as they were giggling and holding hands. They broke apart as soon as they saw us.

Mrs. Orwell smirked. “No point acting all silly, you two. Your secret is already out. But would you mind not canoodling, you’re not married yet!”

Doris’ cheeks were suddenly bright red and Frank was glancing down at the floor. He nudged her.

“Actually, on that subject,” she said. “Frank’s asked me to marry him and I’ve said yes.”

Mrs. Orwell’s face remained static for several moments until suddenly she screamed with joy and began dancing around the kitchen. She hoisted me from my chair and we began to dance together, whirling, her in my hold, around the table. Frank and Doris were quite jubilant with our reactions and we were all cheering and getting carried away when the door flew open and Boyle stood there, face pale and gaunt, dark-circles under her eyes. Talk about ruin the mood.

“Having a celebration?”

“Great news, Mary,” Mrs. Orwell replied, catching her breath. “The kids are getting married.”

She barely cracked a smile. “Congratulations,” she managed. “At least some good news in this house what with all this illegitimate son stuff. Who’d have thought that not only was there a real Herbert Carey but he’s been at this house, the bastard son of the master’s father.”

“Don’t call him that!” I snapped.

“Well, no word of a lie. I better get tray up to her. She’s quite suffering with this news. She might have known the truth but the thought of him here for a cosy visit, well she’s quite in shock. She’s dreading when society finds out.”

“Why?” I asked. “It’s not like he was the first rich bloke to have an affair and have a child somewhere.”

“No but she don’t want these kinds of secrets revealed. You wouldn’t know how it feels, Mr. Boys, having a secret that you don’t want sharing. It does a lot to your insides. I better take her that tray.”

How little she knew about me. I surely held the record for most secrets kept. Mary Boyle, though quite hard to talk to was essentially my counterpart in the household. Where she looked after the master’s mother, I looked after the master, and her bluntness on the subject was only as she was fiercely loyal to her mistress even when she slagged her off on any given moment.

She took the tray, congratulated Frank and Doris and left the room as quickly as she had entered it. Boyle’s words had cast a downer on the celebrations but we didn’t allow it to dampen our moods.

….

Three days later when the sky was bright blue and the sun had graced us for the second day in a row, Monty was looking fitter, not well by any means but definitely brighter than he had since the beginning of his dark mood period.

We walked together through the park that day and fed the ducks in the pond before our meeting at the ‘Brothers in Arms’ pub with Herbert. There was something quite fitting about meeting Monty’s brother there as though that pub held some importance in our lives. Herbert seemed most willing to meet there and I suspect he was a much more ordinary and down to earth fellow than his brother.

“You nervous?” I asked Monty as we stood outside the pub and he hesitated for a moment.

“What if he doesn’t like me?”

I pushed him into the pub. “You seemed to get on well when you talked last. Go on, I’ll be sitting at the bar.”

We walked in together and spied Herbert sitting, funnily enough at what had been Monty and I’s regular booth. Monty made his way to their table and I sat down on a stool at the bar, saying hello to Amy as I ordered a drink.

“Is that Monty’s brother?” she whispered.

Amy was such a gossip but when you were like us you lived for all the gossip you could get!

“That’s him,” I replied.

“Handsome clearly runs in their family.”

I had intended to stay with Amy but after several minutes of new brotherly conversation, I was called over by the master.

“Jack will you join us?”

“Me?”

“No, the other Jack, just sit down please.”

I smiled at Herbert as I sat down. “See the way he talks to me. I bet you’re the nice brother.”

“Herbert, you’ll see how he talks to me because I’ve been far too soft on him.”

“My brother speaks highly of your work, Jack,” Herbert said. “I respect a hard-working man. In my American factory we have a lot of men like you, they’re going places see.”

“You trying to steal my manservant, Carey?” Monty said.

“Call me Herbie and I’d never dream of it. All I’m saying is, I’ve friends myself like your Mr. Boys. You’ve got a good man there, Mr. Montgomery.”

“Please, call me Monty.”

Herbert smiled. “Alright. Suppose calling you Mr. Montgomery is a little strange. I grew up calling our father that.”

“You never called him Dad or Father?” I asked.

“They told me not to. I mean, I knew he was and they trusted me that it was something we didn’t talk about but he was always Mr. Montgomery or Mr. M on visits. I know you don’t feel it but you’re a lucky man, Monty, to have known him so well. His visits were few and far between and I never knew why when I was a kid. I never felt I truly knew him.”

Monty didn’t reply and looked downward. 

“Tell us about New York,” I said. “I’ve always wanted to go.”

“Well then one day you must come if I can persuade your master to venture across the sea to visit my family. The wife and kids would love to see a family member from my side, all the way from England.”

Monty simply smiled, and nodded, Herbert unaware of the signs, but me completely aware that Monty’s eyes were filled with anxiety. 

“Don’t worry, I’ll talk him into it.”

Monty shoved me. “Will you, Jack? Go on, off with you and get us another drink.”

As I was leaving, I mimed a rude gesture behind his back but he was too busy telling Herbert about Rosamund and the children. 

“I can’t wait to visit my Lady sister,” I heard Herbert reply before I was too far away to listen.

I collided with Amy as I made my way back to the bar. It was clear she’d been listening too. 

“They seem to be getting on fine,” I said. “I really hope having this new chapter in his life might help him.”

She poured me another beer. “You’re always worrying about him but who looks after you eh?”

“You sound like the cook at the house.”

“Sounds like a wise woman. Do you ever get lonely being a servant, your whole life being about who you serve in that house, not having your own place, your own things, your own time?”

“Well, when you say it like that!”

I did think about it sometimes, how when my working life was done, I’d have little to show for it and little to keep me once I was unable to work. It was only now in my thirties that the future was something to contemplate and that’s why I was still clinging to the idea of roots, to some kind of security and home. Linksfield didn’t belong to me but it was still part of me and for some strange reason I felt a connection to it—the way I’d felt when I arrived and seemed to be lured to its doors hypnotically. I’d grown accustomed to not only the people but the building itself. The rebel part of me was always struggling to get out but the other side was quite content to keep laying roots in whatever way I could to secure a future for myself.

Things at Linksfield were changing however. I could feel it in the air. Frank and Doris’ upcoming nuptials meant it was likely things were to change. And they told us so the next week, deciding that when they were married that Frank would take Doris to work with him at his uncle’s bed and breakfast by the coast. We were all happy for them of course but I was going to miss them terribly. And with their news, Mrs. Orwell announced she was to move on too, retiring in a months’ time. She’d made the decision I think because of Frank and Doris and suddenly three of our group were leaving.

Then, as things usually come in threes, tragedy struck. No sooner had Monty found he had a brother but his mother died suddenly one horrible morning when Mary Boyle ran into the servants’ hall screaming, having found the old lady had died peacefully in her sleep. A heart condition her doctors had said, though she’d barely uttered a word about it to Monty or Rosamund. To them it was entirely out of the blue.

So, there we were. Linksfield was now without a mistress, soon to be without a cook, footman or maid and even Mrs. Boyle would have nothing to stay for, called out to another position in another town. We would need new servants soon but Monty was in no fit state for interviews and went straight back into the dark mood I had hoped he was now out of.

I remembered when my parents had died, a year apart from one another and I was devastated. We had been close but Monty’s relationship with his mother had been turbulent and so his emotions were buried deep down and he couldn’t seem to cry, just wandered the house, moping, commenting on how empty it seemed.

Our first visitor aside from Rosamund who had temporarily moved in to make arrangements was Herbert Carey who arrived with the biggest wreath of flowers I’d ever seen. To my surprise he embraced both Monty and Rosamund.

“I’m sorry for your terrible loss,” he told them. “If there’s anything I can do. I’m still in England for the next two months, say the word.”

“I appreciate it.”

“When’s the funeral?”

“Ask Boys, he knows all about the details.”

It was true I’d been left to most of the organising with Rosamund’s input. I’d asked my brother Joe to perform the service. He was back in the country in a new post and had agreed to travel down to lend a hand in our time of need. But for the most part, there was a lot to arrange and I was in the driver’s seat. How was Monty going to cope with all this?

…

That evening I sat with Monty in the study, holding our brandy with the curtains drawn. We sat there in silence for a while, listening to nothing but our own breathing. His eyes were red and he was so pale. I wondered what he was going to do, whether I was going to find him at some point with more self-inflicted injuries. It was an uncertain time but despite being used to broaching certain subjects, I still found it incredibly hard to talk with him about feelings.

“Want to talk?” I asked.

He stroked the side of his glass, mesmerised by the liquid inside which swished from side to side. “I should’ve been better to her.”

“She also could’ve been better to you.”

“She’s dead now, can’t hurt me, can she?”

“No but you’ll miss her a lot. We still miss people we had trouble getting along with.”

“Spent years wanting her to go and leave me alone, but now I keep walking past her room and expecting to see her there, sitting in that chair of hers with Boyle fussing around her. Everyone just leaves me, don’t they, Jack? Even Frank, Doris and Mrs. Orwell are going. Boyle’s already setting off. It’ll be just we two now. I don’t know if that excites me or scares me. Linksfield with just you and me.”

“What about new servants?”

“I suppose we’ll need some. I can’t even begin to think about that.”

Of course he couldn’t but how could he not see how much work was done around this house, how many people it took to run it? Their lot never did consider it.

“Don’t worry for the moment,” I said. “We’ll order food to the house and eat dinners out and I know a woman who could cook and clean until someone new can be found. Besides, I’m not a bad cook on the quiet.”

Monty’s eyebrows rose. “You? How do I know it won’t be poison?”

“You’ve never minded when I served your drinks.”

“Yes, that’s true enough. So Jack Boys can cook as well?”

“I can cook but I’m no Mrs. Orwell so don’t expect nothing fancy.”

“I’d never expect anything fancy from you, Jack. But thank you.”

I got up and paced the room, shuddering at how quiet it was without the mother. “Linksfield certainly is a different place to when I started.”

“Gained a brother, lost a mother. I can’t help but wonder if it was this business that killed her.”

“She had a heart condition, Monty. She didn’t tell you the seriousness but it was always there.”

“More secrets.”

“This time to protect you. I wasn’t her biggest fan but I do believe in this instant, she didn’t want to worry you.”

“But the stress of all that Ellis stuff, father’s betrayal, my stabbing, Herbert. It all must have placed a strain on her. And then there’s the recent papers, thank goodness she didn’t see today’s?”

I nodded, grabbing the paper and glancing at the article which announced that Edward Montgomery had a secret love child—right under the announcement of Prudence’s death! How cruel these journalists were, how thoughtless, how little they cared about the feelings of those they spoke about in their pages. Writing should inspire or entertain or inform or be beautiful, not ugly and hateful. My poetry would never do that even if it wasn’t brilliant. 

And poor Herbert, his innocent name dragged into the mud with the family he barely knew. Thank goodness he mostly lived in New York and had no society life to ruin. Monty was already an outcast with his people and once again would have to brave another storm but he was used to this now, the staring and whispering. He’d lived differently his whole life and if anyone could survive it, it was he.

…

The funeral came quicker than expected, creeping up on us the way the autumn does when the days grow shorter. The days leading up to it blended in to one another, and I stood in the kitchen that morning, dressed in all black with Doris adjusting my tie.

“Poor master,” she said. “I feel so bad for leaving him when he’s still grieving.”

Frank placed his arm around her. “We’ll stay as long as we’re needed.”

“No, you won’t, both of you will be off to new adventures because I say so. I’m quite alright looking after the master myself and we’ll wait for your wedding invitation.”

“Oh Jack!” Doris said.

There was the sudden knock at the back door and when I opened it, I was relieved to see the face of my brother Joseph staring back at me. I threw my arms around him, so happy to see him after so long. Whilst Monty spoke with his new brother upstairs, I spoke with my old one downstairs.

“You alright, Jack?” My brother said. “You look tired.”

“It’s been an eventful time,” I replied.

“I gather. You really must be exhausted. But you know I’m proud of you for handling it so well. And God is here to try us.”

“Maybe he could try bothering someone else for a bit,” I said, rather bitterly.

“You’re upset, I’ll ignore that. Come on, we need to get going.”

And so there we were, the current Linksfield household, standing in the cemetery together, ready to be witness as Prudence’s body in her elaborate coffin was lowered into the ground. The service had been awful, I mean even by funeral standards. Joe did a great job of sending her off and the eulogy was heartfelt, but boy was I awful at funerals. I fidgeted like a child. I shuffled. I coughed nervously and got a stiff neck. I glanced at Monty, noticing he was desperately trying to conceal tears as much as I was trying to conceal my cough.

By the time we were ready to put Prudence to final rest, Monty could control himself no longer and his legs weakened and he fell to the floor in the cemetery. There as an awkward gasp as I quickly helped him to his feet, holding onto him tightly with my gloved hand. As he looked at me, tears fell down his cheeks. He looked just like a little lost boy.

“You’re alright, sir, “I whispered. As I held onto his arm, I could feel his body trembling. It wasn’t a particularly cold day but it seemed as though that with his shaking it could have been an icy winter.

He steadied himself then and there was I at his side holding onto him with Rosamund at his other side, linking her arm through his. Herbert stood behind everyone, and Louisa, Monty’s niece stood with the other children opposite us. With such support I had a small sense of optimism inside of me that Monty’s recovery from grief could be better than I first expected. Support was what anyone needed. Someone to share troubles with, someone to lend a hand, to talk to.

As soon as the service was over and we stood looking at the beautiful flowers, Monty shook Joe’s hand. “Thank you so much, reverend.”

“I was so sorry to hear of your loss but flattered when Jack told me you wished me to do the service.”

Monty ran his fingers through his hair. “I’ll be honest with you, I’ve had a rocky relationship with God but mother was very keen on him and I wanted someone like you, someone who has true faith.”

I wasn’t really listening to their conversation after that. All I wanted was to get back to Linksfield, grab an alcoholic beverage and drink away my troubles as well as catch up with my brother. I’d only written several letters to him since he had left and we needed to catch up most desperately.

Mrs. Orwell had put on quite the spread back at the house and Monty had kindly allowed us servants to attend the wake in the dining room with the other mourners. If it hadn’t of been a funeral day it would’ve been quite a fun party and especially as it provided mixed emotions— a gathering with many people I cared about but many of whom would soon leave Linksfield forever.

And it became a celebration of sorts after the mourners left, turning from a funeral wake to an engagement party. Monty stood to attention, raising a glass and giving a speech which was so unlike him— he hated speaking publicly and would normally avoid any situation which required him to do so.

“Mother would want us to have a good ol’ party to remember her and most importantly, though she may not have showed it very often, she was a big romantic.”

Rosamund laughed. “Blasphemy! Not mother!”

He chuckled. “No, no, I mean it, Rosie. She used to read all those romance novels and enjoy a dramatic love story at the opera so I think she’d be tickled pink at the upcoming marriage of our own Frank and Doris who met here in this very household.”

Doris whispered into my ear. “She didn’t even know my name, used to call me Dora.”

I placed my arm around her shoulder. “That’s a term of endearment from her. She wanted me to change mine when I arrived.”

“Boys, be quiet, I’m making a speech here,” Monty said, raising his eyebrow. “See how cheeky he is!”

Everyone clapped and cheered but Joe especially seemed to be in agreement with sir’s statement. Well at least those two had something they could agree upon.

“To Doris and Frank!” Monty said, raising his glass.

We all raised our glasses in response. “To Doris and Frank.”

To Doris and Frank, I thought to myself. And may they be happy and flourish away from the clutches of Linksfield.

…

That night as Rosamund and the children travelled home, and Doris, Frank and Mrs. Orwell retired to their rooms below stairs, the master and I stood in the upper-house hallway, again listening to the sound of absolute silence. No longer the sound of Prudence’s gramophone at all hours or her bellowing voice calling for Boyle, just silence. And the echoes of memory.

“You ready for bed?” I asked Monty as he lingered in the hallway. This had once been the house where his father had worked, where his mother had hosted parties, where his sister had met boys…and now he was all alone.

“I don’t think I’m ready to sleep yet. I’ll sit outside mother’s room for a bit.”

“Out here in the hallway?”

“I never really knew either of them, did I, not truly? I just need to think of her for a moment.”

“In the hallway?”

“Problem with that?”

“No, no, bit strange, but if it’s what you want?”

“Jack, I don’t need your permission to sit in the hall.”

“In that case, as I’m your manservant, and I must be by your side,” I said, sitting down beside him in that cold, dark hallway. “Guess I’m going to join you.”


	11. Wedding Trip

The days were strange. The nights quiet and long. Monty’s grief kept him awake most nights and I stayed awake with him. Sometimes we sat for a while in that hallway, saying nothing, just sitting and staring at shadows. Sometimes we stood at the top of the stairs, looking down the bannisters to the long drop below. I’m not sure why we did it or whether we wondered what it’d be like to jump but we looked nonetheless and I was remined of that first moment I met him, standing down at the bottom while he viewed me from way above. Only now we stood there together.

One evening I was preparing Monty’s tea and so I stood over the stove, keeping a close-eye on three cooking pots of food that were bubbling away over three fierce flames, and I was checking on them every few moments, making sure not to set the place alight. The steam rose high in the air, filling my nostrils but along with it there was a smell of vegetables, and meat from the oven. Mrs. Orwell had finally left us the two weeks prior and I’d somehow become the temporary cook, preparing low maintenance meals for the master and myself when he couldn’t be bothered to go to a restaurant which quite frankly was most of the time. There had been a few kitchen mishaps but slowly I was getting to grips with the task and Mrs. Orwell had given me a few tips before leaving. With the master alone and no other servants to feed, I decided that cooking for the two of us did not seem such a mammoth task. Caterers could be hired for large events which were few and far between and Rosamund no doubt would invite her brother for many meals in the future.

In honesty, aside from the lonely house, I strangely rather enjoyed the extra responsibility and I’d never minded cooking. It was a lot to take on in addition to my other duties but with the quiet, it was nice to keep my mind busy. The house felt so empty. I felt I was talking to myself. Aside from the one maid who cleaned every morning for a few hours and went away again, it was just we two roaming around like grazing wildebeest on masses of land. I wasn’t used to solitude like that and I felt guilty having so much around me when I’d grown up with so little and lived in a small house. Here, I had the run of the place. I could venture in every servants’ room and I also had pretty much free reign of the upper house. I had to ask Monty’s permission of course but without the judgement of everyone else, it was not so difficult to sit in the study or take a kip on a comfier bed or take a bath in the middle of the day.

Monty’s rules had certainly relaxed and it was as though we were lodged together now, albeit with one who did all the work and the other who did so little. 

I served Monty his dinner that evening, him opting to join me downstairs rather than in the large dining room he hated sitting in since his mother had passed, and we sat together around the wooden table that was usually full of people.

“Looks splendid,” he said from opposite me, holding the knife and fork for dear life.

“Does it? You said that last time before you heaved and then spat discreetly into your handkerchief.”

“Good grief, I didn’t know you’d seen that. Well, that was probably a one off-mistake, this does look most appetising. Fine piece of meat, a little overdone perhaps but fine. Nice potatoes, only one or two charred and I’m sure delicious vegetables.” He placed a carrot into his mouth. “Not too firm at all, well done.”

“Do we have to go through this every time— you trying to give positive feedback like a friendly food critic? Grub is grub, it all slides down the same hole.”

He placed down his fork. “You can be so damn vulgar, Boys.”

“I can be more vulgar. It all comes out of another hole too.”

“Boys!”

“Your lot are so funny with your ways. Don’t know what you’d all do if there was a natural disaster. We’d find you all in the woods roaming around like wolves, fighting each other.”

With his mouthful he grinned and then waited to swallow before talking. “Well, I’d have you, wouldn’t I? Seeing as you’re so bally perfect, if disaster strikes, naturally you’d survive every catastrophe and take it as your opportunity to rise up and teach us toffs all a lesson.” He then dabbed his mouth with a serviette at the same time I did with the tablecloth.

I started to chew on another piece of meat, speaking with my mouthful. “Nah, too old for all that. I’d go back to basics, that sort of thing. Life starting from scratch.”

“I’m sure I’d adapt if need be, I mean I’m adapting now. I’ve never lived without a cook or footman. We used to have so many servants. You don’t realise how dependent we become.”

“Oh I do realise, that’s the point.”

“We never asked for it, it’s thrust upon us. It doesn’t make one feel good, not me anyway, so child-like.”

“And yet you still have me?”

“I’m not sure at this point I could do it all alone. I’ve never been all by myself. I’ve shut myself away at times but there’s always been people there should I need them.”

“You’re like a mangy old cat, you are.”

“Enough of the mangy. I’m well-groomed, a fine breed.”

“Alright. I could teach you to boil an egg or make a cake though if you like? Herbert’s your brother and he runs a whole factory and so did your dad. You own that factory of your old man’s in name but you hardly set foot there.”

“I know nothing about business, Jack. My brother-in-law’s people sort out that stuff for me.”

“But I can help you. We could visit the place, meet the workers, expand your horizons. Getting out and among people of all kinds is good for the soul. God knows I could do with some other company.”

“You’re unhappy?”

“No, not in the work exactly, but this house used to be so alive…creepy… but alive in its people. But now it feels so…quiet, so lonely.”

I couldn’t help but notice Monty’s complete avoidance of talking about his own life and steering it back to mine. We were so alike in that way. I did it all the time—focused on his problems whilst completely ignoring my own. Where other people had the tendency to steer the conversation back to themselves, Monty and I did the opposite. I knew the factory and his lack of role within it bothered him, so I decided to press it on him later when he wasn’t so consumed by grief and anxiety over the changing times.

And with that conversation, days passed with mostly small talk between us. I packed our cases and loaded up the car ready for our trip to the coast where Frank and Doris were to be married at Frank’s uncle’s hotel. I couldn’t wait to see them and Mrs. Orwell too who was also going as a guest. Soon Linksfield’s former colleagues would be reunited. I must confess I was slightly nervous, excited too, but a little nervous at seeing everyone again—worried it’d remind me how much I missed their company. Linksfield had felt so homely and full and now I was trying to adapt to it being spacious and empty.

“Ready for the off?” I asked, holding the car door open for Monty.

He climbed in. “Before I go, are you sure I should be? I mean, who wants a former master at their wedding do?”

“They invited you, you idiot. They want you there and so do I. Besides, would you stay here alone and fend for yourself?” I jumped over the door and into the driver’s seat.

“Don’t be facetious, Jack, I simply meant I’ll be out of place.”

“Just think of it as another Jack and Monty adventure. This time instead of dressing up as one of us and going to the pub, it’s being yourself and going to a simple humble wedding.”

A tiny smile appeared on his pale face and I knew it meant business. He wanted to go, I could see it in his eyes, but as usual he felt he wasn’t suitable for it. Oh, how I hated the stupid rules his class put upon everything.

We took the more scenic route on our journey to the seaside as I thought the master would appreciate the views as we drove by. The trouble was he enjoyed the sights so much that every few moments he would stop me to gasp at something else that had caught his attention.

“Oh, Jack, look, a little lamb frolicking. Slow down, man.”

“We’ll never get there in time if you keep stopping to smell every flower.”

“Oh, be quiet and do as you’re told! And we have another day before the wedding, don’t be so melodramatic. If I recall, you wanted me to appreciate the outdoors more.”

“Yes, appreciate, not write verses as we pass.”

“You’re the poet, Jack.”

“Not anymore.”

“And you call me defeatist. I order you to start writing poetry again.”

“Oh you’re ordering me?”

“Yes, well, I jolly well am. It’s for your own good. Releases the tension in your soul.”

“Then perhaps you should start writing it.”

“I haven’t the talent but you have and you should keep at it.”

“Fine. I’ll do the poetry again if you visit that damn factory of yours.”

He was silent for a moment. “I’m your employer, I do not have to come to terms. I say something and you do it!”

“Alright, well, will you at least do it because I think perhaps you like me a little bit to at least try?”

I could see he was trying not to smile. “Fine, seeing as I like you a tiny bit.”

There was a another burst of silence. 

“Bit quiet,” I said, “shall we sing?”

“A song?”

“No, a breakfast menu, what else?”

“Can you sing?”

“Need you be good at it to do it? Come on.” I began to sing at the top of my voice, keeping one hand on the steering wheel and one waving in the air. 

Monty grabbed the steering wheel. “You’ve proved your point well there. You can’t sing.”

“Git! I used to sing at school in the choir.”

“Put you at the back, did they?”

“Ha, well, I suppose you performed in a bloody cathedral dressed in angelic choir robes, singing for king and country no doubt?!”

He glanced to the road. “No. Never had a good enough voice or the confidence.”

“You did acting though?”

“Playing a part, Jack. Singing as myself is entirely different.”

“Well, sing now, it’s only we two and the open road.”

“Only if you sing with me.”

“Deal.”

I opened my mouth to resume the song but instead only mouthed the words and let him sing the next two lines entirely alone at the top of his voice as another car pulled up beside us at the crossroads. Inside the other car was a young couple, well dressed and groomed, both blonde and immaculate and good-looking. They grinned as Monty realised he was being watched and attempted to sink down into the car seat. After they sped away, he looked at me, scowling, his face red from either embarrassment or fury.

“Pull over.”

“What for?”

“Those people saw me. You tricked me. I need to kill you.”

“They’re strangers who will never see you again.”

“I saw them. I’m mortified.”

I continued to drive, ignoring his order to stop. “Proved you wrong though eh? You can sing. Probably need a bit of fine tuning but—”

“—I’m not a bloody piano!”

…

The Bed and Breakfast overlooked the sea, and atop the cliffs, seagulls screeched above whilst the sound of children could be heard below playing on the sand, parents getting ready to leave as the day drew to a close. I had to admit I was rather envious of the views Frank and Doris would see every time they looked out of a window.

When I finally greeted my old friends, they seemed older somehow, so mature and free. Though they weren’t married yet, they seemed as though they’d been together years. I embraced Doris and planted a kiss on her cheek.

“I’ve missed you, Jack,” she said.

As Monty hovered in the background, I shook hands with Frank. Usually, Monty was the guest and I the spare part to assist him, but now it was the other way around— he invited but not knowing Frank or Doris on a personal level despite them working for him for several years— and me, a friend of the hosts, not only invited but best man.

“Thank you for coming, sir,” Doris said, bowing before the master. “I’m afraid it’s quite small here.”

“That’s quite alright, young lady, and you really mustn’t call me sir anymore. Call me Monty if you like.”

“Thank you, sir,” she said accidentally.

She laughed as Frank— still playing the footman— took our suitcases upstairs to where we had a joint room with two single beds, not the usual master’s suite and a butler’s quarters we were accustomed to when we travelled to large manor houses in the country or society functions. 

“I see,” Monty said.

“Not to your usual standard?”

“No.”

“They don’t have the rooms you’re used to here, mate. I could book you somewhere else?”

“No, no, I agreed to this, it’ll be adequate.” He sat on the edge of his small, plain bed and felt it for lumps.

I laughed. “Yes, lumps.” I sat down on my own and checked it too. “Think mine’s worse. You wait until you see the bathroom.”

He looked around. “What bathroom?”

“You’ll see.”

“Why on earth did they leave my employment to come here?”

“New life, new location, new job. We don’t all want the same old routine our whole lives.”

“Hmm. Jack?”

“Yes?” I said, putting some of his clothes into his wardrobe.

“Can we go to the beach?”

“You’re asking permission?”

“Well just letting you know my wishes. It’s been so long since I felt the sand between my toes.”

“It’s evening now.”

“I’m well aware.”

“Clement Montgomery takes his shoes off?”

“Of course. When one is at the beach, one acts accordingly.”

“There’s some new things I learn about you every day.”

“Good, I should hate to be predictable. Well, hurry up, Boys, the beach awaits.”

“Hold on, these clothes don’t hang and fold themselves.”

He grabbed my hand so that the clothes all fell to the floor in a heap. He didn’t pick them up and instead pulled me from the room as though we were schoolboys running away from the dorm in the night. I laughed as I was led across the upstairs hall and toward the staircase. It was there we collided with Mrs. Orwell who was coming up. She screamed.

“Good heavens it’s my master,” she said, throwing her arms around Monty and squeezing him quite uncharacteristically. “You have been taking care of yourself, haven’t you?”

“Yes, Jack has me in hand,” Monty said, barely able to breathe. “And yourself?”

She let him go. “Doing alright, luvvie. Bit hard getting used to being retired but it’s nice to spend time with my sister and her family.”

“I’m fine also, thank you, Mrs. O,” I said, smirking.

“You’re still the same old Jack Boys I see.” She grabbed me for a hug, squeezing me tightly. “Off with you. I’ll see you at the ceremony tomorrow. I hope you like my hat, bought it special.”

By the time we’d passed Mrs. Orwell and then Frank and Doris on the way downstairs, it was twilight and the beach looked stunning as we walked across the sand as the sun set on the horizon. True to his word, even in the fading evening, Monty took off his shoes and wriggled his toes in the sand. It was perfect at that time, the sea so tranquil, the beach empty, Monty looking so carefree. He was able to be himself as he sat upon the sand, watching as the tide grew further in, the waves so gentle upon the shore, coming in and out, in and out like a steady heartbeat.

“We’ll be cut off soon,” I said, noticing that with every time the tide came, it edged closer to us.

“Few more minutes.”

I sat down beside him and the water now reached our feet and splashed over them ever so slightly. I rolled up my shirt sleeves and my trouser legs and then took off my shoes and revealed one holey sock.

“Good grief. I told you to darn that sock!”

“I did. It’s not the same one, mate.” I took off both my socks. “There. Better?”

He looked at my feet which were red and sore with blisters. “Not much, no.”

I waved my foot inches from his face. “These are workers feet, these are. Calluses and bunions, all part of the working man’s experience.”

He smiled but didn’t reply, instead glancing out to the sea and watching as each wave caressed the shore. He took a deep breath every time the water receded. And then repeated. It was a beautiful place but suddenly all I could picture was Monty lying there, allowing the sea to consume him. I thought then that if Monty were to pick a way to go other than death by razor blade, then this would’ve been it. Sometimes I wonder if I hadn’t been there with him on that beach…but I mustn’t think painful things like that.

“What you thinking about?” I asked. The silence frightened me.

He played with the grains of sand between his fingers. “My brother actually.”

“Ah! The amazing Herbert!”

“You make him sound like a magician. Are you jealous?”

I sighed. “Handsome, charming, owns his own business, has a family, lives in New York. Just a little bit envious, yeah.”

“I was thinking of going there, you know?”

“Going where?”

“New York.”

I leapt to my feet in sudden surprise. “You, New York? But you didn’t seem keen when Herbie mentioned it.”

“You mistake me, Jack,” he said, rising to his feet to face me. “I do want to do these things but sometimes it’s easier not to try. My mind always wishes to sabotage me. I’m afraid.”

“You’ve been abroad before. You told me you spent those summers in Italy.”

“Yes, with Rosamund and mother and it was so dreadfully long ago. I’ve become so used to Linksfield. It may not be Rome or New York but it’s my home and the thought of leaving it for so long terrifies me.”

“Would it help you if I told you I was scared too?”

He chucked a pebble into the sea and looked at me. “You? Jack Boys? I dare not believe it.”

“I’ve never been to another country for a holiday. I’m not like my brothers. The other bloke I worked for was too old to travel and the only other place I’ve seen is France and I don’t count being in a muddy trench as travel experience.”

“I’m sorry. So, New York would be a good experience for you?”

“It’d be a new challenge. Something adventurous.”

“So, we go then? When Herbert sets sail next month, we pluck up the courage and we join him, yes?”

I smiled. “If you want! Bloody hell, I’ve got some arranging to do if we’re going!”

“Just a trip mind, Jack. Don’t you be going out there and finding something better to do or meeting some rich American who offers you a job and a wife.”

“I’ll try my best not to! Come on then, the tides almost in, let’s get back before we drown!” I stopped still, realising I didn’t know where abouts we were on that desolate beach. “Uh…how do we get back to the clifftop from here?”

Monty scratched his chin. “Ah.”

…

“Jack?”

I was awoken that night by Monty standing at the end of my bed. I jumped up in shock, becoming tangled in my bed covers and turning on the light, thinking for a moment there was a ghost waiting to greet me. When I saw it was the pale Monty rather than an ethereal phantom, I threw my pillow at him to which he threw it back immediately. 

“Bloody hell, why aren’t you in your bed? You scared me.”

“Sorry.”

I placed the pillow on top of my head. “Go to sleep.”

“I can’t.”

“Why not?” I threw the pillow back at him and once again he tossed it back as though we were playing a sporting game. 

“I find it hard to sleep when I’m not in my own bed.”

I yawned and shoved him back to his cot. “Bodes well for New York.”

“That’s what I’m nervous about.” He climbed out of bed again and I watched, sitting up in my own bed as he made a speedy circuit of the room.

With a sigh, I arose and attempted to follow him but I couldn’t seem to catch up or determine his direction. He was out of the door and into the hallway in a flash and standing outside one of the doors, looking perplexed.

“Jack!”

“What?”

“I need the facilities.” He gulped. “I have to share with other people?”

“Yeah, so?”

“Can you wait outside, make sure nobody comes in?”

I huffed, rubbing my eyes in the darkness and waiting outside the door like some sort of guard at a Royal palace.

When he came out, he rushed straight past me and back into our room. I followed him again.

“Next time I’ll use a chamber pot,” he said.

“No you won’t!”

“Don’t talk back to me, Boys.” He climbed into his bed but I noticed he wasn’t getting himself comfortable, instead he sat up, staring ahead at the wall.

I growled in frustration. “I can’t sleep with you sitting like that!”

“Nonsense, I’m not bothering you.”

“Lie down and go sleep.”

“I’ve told you I can’t!”

“You haven’t tried!”

“I bloody well have. You were too busy snoring to notice. Pure showing off.”

“I don’t snore.”

“I’m afraid you do, old chap.”

“Yeah… well so do you when you bother trying to sleep.”

“If you’d remembered to pack Teddy, I wouldn’t be in this mess.”

“I’m sorry about Teddy. Jesus, I’m supposed to have a best man speech written by tomorrow and I can’t even get a few hours kip.”

“You haven’t written it yet?”

“No.” I rolled over and turned off the light between us. Seconds later, it came back on and he stood there holding a pen and paper.

“I can help you.”

I placed the pillow over my ears. “Don’t need help. Go sleep.”

He pulled the pillow away and sat down upon my bed. I wanted to take the pillow and suffocate him with it.

“Jack, they need a good speech. You can’t just throw something together last minute like you do with life. Come on, first draft.”

“I wasn’t planning on multiple drafts. Can’t I just say what’s on my mind as I go along?”

“That’s what places you frequently in trouble.” He tapped the pen onto the paper. “Come on, tell me about Frank and Doris’ courtship and we can go from there?”

I sighed, sat up and groaned. “Fine, it all started when you were stabbed and annoyingly survived.”

…

The wedding ceremony the next day went along thankfully without a single hiccup. The meal was nice, the company was great, and my speech went down a treat like a fine glass of champagne. I’d thrown away Monty’s paper as soon as I’d raised my glass and winged it from there, simply taking the gist of his ideas and keeping it informal and much more me. I even got a few jokes in there, one at Monty’s expense. He sat there during the dinner, looking all tight and rigid, unable to speak or move. I wanted to shove him and loosen him up but he was like one of the statues at Linksfield, needing to be broken and set free. He looked so out of place there, so in need of a friend.

The hotel he’d chosen on our trip to encounter Ellis had been grand and posh, meaning he was in his element, but this was small, modest and the people simple and normal. He didn’t know how to behave or what to say. He’d been at the pub a few times but this was even harder. Unlike the training I had in catering to his kind, how to work, act and think— how to serve and please, he still had no clue how to be like us. Granted he was trying and he wasn’t as snobby as I had originally suspected, but it was all so obvious he was finding it a struggle.

By the time the evening drew to a close, I’d been drinking and dancing all night. I held Doris in my arms as we waltzed around the floor. She looked stunning in her modest laced white gown and I wondered for a second how if things had gone differently and if I’d felt differently whether it’d be me as a groom and this our day. 

“I hope you and Frank are very happy together,” I whispered into her ear.

“I think we will be.”

“You don’t miss Linksfield then?”

“Of course, Jack. We both do.”

I smiled, said not another word, let go of her and watched as she re-joined Frank in his waiting arms where they danced to the soft music. I made my way to the patio outside and lit a cigarette. The view was beautiful in the evening and I felt a mix of emotions as the cool breeze tickled my cheeks. Was I feeling a sudden regret? Did I want stability? Did I want what Frank and Doris had or did I simply feel I was missing out on something? Why did I always crave what other people had even though until that moment I’d never worried about it too much? Now here I was, feeling melancholy, thinking about Linksfield and America, old homes and new adventures and I felt so confused. Why did weddings stir these feelings within us?

I smiled as I watched uncoordinated Frank attempt a few Charleston steps on the dance floor and then I turned back to the night and puffed away at my cigarette, billowing the smoke into the air with blessed relief.

“There you are. I should be furious with you for leaving me alone in there.” Monty suddenly appeared beside me at the railing, looking down onto the cliffs below.

“Sorry. Did you get stuck talking to a toothless stranger?”

“Mrs. Orwell actually. She grabbed me for a dance and one can’t say no to her.”

“Good job she didn’t ask you for anything else then.”

“Don’t be vulgar, Jack.”

I laughed. “Your lot are far worse! Your people are obsessed with sex.”

“Boys, that word will not be uttered outside in public.”

“We’re the only ones here except for that couple over there.”

We both glanced over to them and realised it was the same blonde couple from the car that we’d passed on the journey down. They waved at us and grinned as they passed us again, this time into the building.

“Strangers we won’t see again hmmm?” Monty hissed. “And in addition to my singing they might have heard you just now.”

“It’s only a word. Sex. Plenty of people have it.”

He placed his hands over his face as I laughed. “Seems you’ll never do as you’re told. Stop being cheeky, you! What are you doing out here anyway, besides being vulgar?”

“Been talking and shouting all night, needed a breather.”

“You seem a little quiet now.”

“Reflective maybe, dunno.”

“Regretting letting Doris go?”

“Nah. She’s made the right choice and we wouldn’t fit. I could never be my true self around her.”

“Ah yes, well you are a bit of an enigma. All this bravado on the outside, but on the inside…”

He didn’t finish his sentence. 

“Cigarette?” I asked.

He nodded and like me, he mainly smoked when he was agitated or being social. He took one from me and I lit it for him and we laughed as we took a puff at exactly the same time.

“So, you got through a whole pauper’s wedding?” I asked.

“I suppose I did. Something to tick off the list. Jolly tired now though. I don’t know how I’ll survive a voyage to New York.”

“Still going on that then, thought you might’ve changed your mind?”

“There’s still time but I’m determined to try. I suppose you could always knock me unconscious to get me onboard.”

“Don’t tempt me, mate. Look, I’m sure it’ll be fine. You’ve been on boats, you’ll sail through it, pardon the bad joke. When you gonna tell Herbert?”

“Last minute I should think, just in case.”

“Then you shouldn’t wait, tell him straight away then you can’t change your mind.”

I could sense his hand shaking as he held the cigarette in one hand and clutched the railing with the other. I leaned down and placed my hand on his to steady it. Despite a mild evening, his hand was icy cold to the touch.

“We’ll make it, I promise.”

He smiled at me.

“What are you two doing out here?” Frank said, leaning out the door. “My best man and former master need to be in here enjoying the festivities, not out here moping.”

“Just getting some fresh air,” I said.

“With cigarettes?”

“Cheeky bugger. We’ll be in, stop fussing. Just ‘cause you’re a married man now.”

We stubbed out our cigarettes on the railing and walked toward the door.

“Well, Jack, looks like we’ve been summoned.”

“Suppose you’ve never been ordered to do something before.”

“I have, by you, now be quiet and do as your told.”

…

And I did as I was told right up until we stood at the Liverpool docks a month later, suitcases at our sides, ready to board the ship that would take us alongside Herbert to New York and to a new adventure for several months. We had said goodbye to Rosamund and Amy before setting off for Liverpool and there I stood now in between the two brothers— one with the look of sheer happiness of going home to his family— and one with the look of sheer terror of what lay ahead in an unfamiliar land. There was no going back.

“You ready?” I asked as I gripped my suitcases and motioned for Monty to do the same. We handed them to the porter and then climbed aboard after I had a quick natter with the man.

“No, not ready, but I wasn’t ready to confront Ellis Stevens and I managed that.”

“Not the best example. You were stabbed.”

Herbert followed us onboard and put his arm around his brother’s shoulder. “Speaking of Ellis Stevens, you two heard the news?” he whispered.

We glanced at each other. “No?” we said together.

“Didn’t you see the papers? He tried to make an escape from the police across the railway line and well… you can guess the rest.”

“Poor bastard,” I said, grimacing, not wishing such an horrific death on anyone, even if he had hurt my friend.

Monty frowned. “I’m sorry for his death, I really am, but I’m glad it’s all over now. He tricked us. But now I’m here with the two most important men in my life, about to travel across the ocean and I think that wretched business seems so insignificant. Another Jack and Monty adventure eh?”

Herbert nudged him. “And Herbert?” 

“And Herbert.” He smiled.

I wondered what the journey would be like. I was absolutely certain, confident even that it’d be a breeze, that I would settle into life on a ship with ease and be the life and soul of the party. Jack Boys could cope with anything, Jack Boys loved the journey.

Boy was Jack Boys wrong!


	12. New Adventures

Monty leaned over the edge of the railing and looked downward to the never-ending deep blue sea as it gently caressed the side of the boat. “These waves are so hypnotic.” He paused for a moment. “I wonder what it’d be like to gently slip under them and let them take me away, consume me in the blue.”

“Shut up would ya!” I was getting angry.

“I can do that if you wish. I can shut-up forever.” He took a deep breath and before I even had time to realise it, he was climbing onto the first railing.

“What do you think you’re doing?” I grabbed his arm tightly.

“It’s best really. Best for everyone. Best for Herbert and for you.” He was talking in a slow, hypnotic monotone, almost as if in a trance with a sea siren beckoning him under.

…

I suppose I better explain how we got to that dramatic point in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean. I’ll start on the very first night of our voyage across the sea, the night upon which the first few days of the storm arrived without warning. Monty, it turned out, had no problem with a boat which lurched and heaved from side to side on the choppiest seas I’d ever experienced. I, on the other hand, had only been on a short journey to France and never a long voyage anywhere and in honesty I was not prepared for the seasickness. I thought I could cope with anything, thought I was the strong one, but when it came to travelling by boat on a forever shifting sea, this was evidence to the contrary.

Whilst Monty dusted down his dinner jacket and adjusted his bowtie, ready for the three-course meal that awaited him, I sat in my bed in the butler’s quarters of his exquisite suite, clutching a tin bucket and praying for death.

He was standing in the doorway, looking at me as though I were a bird with an injured wing. “I say, I’ve never seen a fellow so green.”

I didn’t reply, instead staring at him with an expression usually reserved for the enemy.

“Come help me with my cufflinks.”

“Can’t you see I’m a bit busy here, mate, chucking up into a bucket? Perhaps on this one occasion, you could do them up yourself.”

“Don’t be so silly, you’re not actually chucking up anything. You merely feel sick. Come help me. These are darned difficult to do.”

I grunted, tutted and huffed my way to his side where I stood, my stomach rumbling like a wild animal. I begrudgingly did his cufflinks up for him.

“There, that wasn’t so hard, was it?”

I admit in that moment that if I’d had the energy, I’d have quite socked him one right in the chops. Being talked down to like a child was one thing, but being talked down to when the room was spinning was quite another.

“I’ll bring you something to ease that tummy of yours.” 

He glanced into the mirror and he was standing tall, looking clean and groomed and handsome. His hair was slicked back and he had a neatly maintained beard. Yes, that’s right, you’ve read correctly, the master was once again sporting the unshaven look, having grown it especially for the journey, declaring he was to appear wild at sea. Wild and the master were not two things I thought of at the same time. And to be frank, I still wasn’t sold on the facial hair.

“Is Herbert meeting you in the restaurant?” I asked, falling onto the floor like an injured deer that had been shot and was lying in its own blood.

“I am. He knows the captain, I hear.”

“Does he?”

“I do wish you were joining us, Jack. I was looking forward to us eating together as friends.”

“Me at your table?”

He tapped my shoulder. “On a journey across a perilous sea, men are but equals.”

“Are we really? If we’re really equal, you’d also have the decency to feel sick with me. Herbert’s fine too. How can you cope with this storm and the ship moving back and forth in the way it is?”

“Don’t know. It’s not as bad as it was earlier and we’re quite safe. I’m glad Herbert’s here so I don’t have to dine alone. I’m quite nervous.”

“You’ll be fine.”

He looked down at me. “Jack, poor pathetic Jack. You look beastly. Why don’t you sit in my quarters? The settee is more comfortable than your bed. Throw a towel over it in case of accidents.”

“I don’t think I can move further than a few feet, mate, but thanks for the offer.”

So off he went, anxious and excited to his grand dinner, and there I stayed, whipping out my notebook to write some poetry about giant swells and spinning rooms. I wondered if I’d ever feel well again. Even holding pen to paper, looking at my scribbling, made my eyes hurt and my stomach lurch. What if it stayed choppy for the whole journey? How would my stomach and my mind cope?

I didn’t even hear Monty return later but I awoke to find my notebook placed neatly on the side and my blanket tucked around me on the settee which indeed I had crawled to at his suggestion. There was the smell of something fragrant sprayed all around and the lights were dimmed.

“Monty?” I called out and he appeared beside me.

“Get some rest, Jack, and that’s an order.”

“Don’t be daft, come in here and tell me about dinner with Herbert and the Captain.”

As soon as he came into the light, I saw a smile find his face. He sat down on the settee and his expression changed from the smile to scrunching his features in a look of pity as though I was a pathetic little creature.

“It was quite mortifying if you must know. These two ladies latched onto us. Nice enough women but they could talk the hind legs off a donkey. I barely managed two words to Herbert without one of them interrupting. The dinner was delicious though which made up for it. How was your evening?”

“Well, there was a starter of feeling sick, followed by a main course of ‘I could be sick’, with a side dish of the room spinning and a dessert of wanting to die. But in the good moments I managed to write some poems and considering the words were blurring and I could barely move, I think I did pretty well.” 

“Let me see them then,” he said, sliding the notebook on the table toward him.

I placed my hand on it next to his and slid it back. “No peeking.”

…

The seasickness got worse before it got better and for the first week and with the awful weather outside, I found myself mostly confined to my room, listening to Monty regale me with his experiences. I felt contented that he was getting out there and enjoying himself but also unhappy that I was missing out on the opportunity to accompany him and really live and breathe that journey. 

Finally, I began to feel better, and the sea had become much calmer, allowing me for the first time in days to walk in a straight line and onto the deck to relish in the fresh sea air. 

It also allowed me the chance to get to bond with Herbert. He had only visited me sparingly, not wanting to bother me during my illness so I was relieved to see him and in honesty the two of us got on rather well. We had a similar sense of humour, liked a good drink in a pub, and enjoyed being around people. We stood together on the deck, laughing as we shared a joke and a cigarette break.

“You know how to get around my brother’s moods then?” he chuckled.

“You’ve met the other moods, have you?” I asked.

“I have.”

“Not always able to get around them. But you seem to have bonded with him quite well already for estranged brothers.”

“I like him, don’t get me wrong but a long way to go. I suppose a brother bond takes years to build and I’ll be honest, sometimes he scares me a bit.”

“Scares me too.” I laughed.

“I mean in his strange ways. The whole stabbing thing he’s been through and his nervous demeanour. And there’s definitely more to learn about him, stuff I wonder that he’s been through but not able to share.”

“You get used to it, the moods I mean.”

“You have?

“Yeah, pretty much. 

“And you learn about the other stuff, the stuff he hides?”

“Some of it, yeah. Don’t tell him though. He likes to think he’s still mysterious to me.”

We laughed again and I spun around to see the aforementioned master standing on the deck looking at us, his face black as thunder.

“Dinner time. You two coming or not, Jack?” His voice was sharp, more like an order than a question.

I shrugged at Herbert. “Speaking of moods,” I whispered, “wonder what’s into him?”

“I thought you knew everything?”

…

The dinner was a particularly awkward experience at first. I sat in the middle, the two brothers on either side of me, each dressed in completely different attire— Monty dressed more for the opera and Herbert more for a meeting with parents. I was dressed as I usually did, as though going to the pub with mates. There was a tense atmosphere around the table, what with me being a servant and not suitably dressed or suitable in general for being invited to dine with the elite. Monty had a face on him and I knew something was really bothering him.

I was relieved when the two women Monty had met earlier, joined us at the table. They were an American heiress named Angelica and her maid Millie. Angelica regaled us with stories about her father’s company and how when he’d died, she’d inherited the entire thing. She didn’t believe in class distinctions and travelled with Millie as equals and companions (well what she called equal even though Millie did all the work!). Millie herself was a pleasant woman, chatty with a good head on her shoulders. The two, I must admit did seem firm friends and as they sat together in the dining hall, sipping cocktails and conversing like old friends, it reminded me of Monty and myself. Well, perhaps the Monty and myself I had pictured in years to come.

Despite Monty’s apparent dark mood, it was the first time on the ship I was starting to feel at home and enjoy the atmosphere and people. It’d been ages since I’d shared a meal with anyone except Monty, and I missed Frank and Doris and Mrs. Orwell and strangely even the scheming Boyle. I found myself mostly missing Linksfield even after such a short time but this was a new adventure, travelling further than I’d ever been, meeting people I’d never met. It was just the change I felt we needed at that moment in time.

“How long have you worked for Mr. Montgomery?” Millie asked discreetly.

“Not long at all really, a year or so.”

“Nothing on us then!”

“No, suppose not.”

Monty almost seemed offended by this. “I assure you, madam, that Jack and I are as close as can be for such a short time in each other’s company.”

“I see, well I beg your pardon, meant nothing of it.”

“Neither does he,” I added.

As I chatted away with Millie, comparing our lives as servants on either side of the pond and living with extremely demanding employers, Monty and Angelica were engrossed in their own discussion with Herbert about each of their respective businesses. I attempted to listen to two conversations at once— Millie still gossiping into one ear— and I straining to hear the other more interesting one in my other.

He seemed alright at first, Monty, as he joined in with Angelica and Herbert and spoke as if he’d known them for years, but then I saw a sadness sweep over him as the other two talked about their companies in detail and I feared Monty had run out of things to say, after all, he had a factory but as I had pointed out many times—he knew next to nothing of its workings.

Angelica leaned over to him, accidentally blowing cigarette smoke into his face. “How many people you employ, Monty dear?”

Suddenly his cheeks were pink and his brow was sweating. He looked at me briefly. I could tell instantly what he was feeling—he didn’t want to be seen as a fool. However, I didn’t expect him to suddenly leap up from the table, discarding his serviette into a plate full of gravy.

“I do beg your pardon!” he spluttered before rushing away from the table the way I had done when I’d had the terrible seasickness. Only his was a different type of sickness.

“Was it something I said?” Angelica said to me. “Poor darling looked quite ill all of a sudden.”

“Was it something he ate?” Herbert asked.

“Nah, he’s been feeling a bit tired that’s all,” I said. “I’ll go check on him. Thanks for the dinner and chat, ladies, Herbie.”

I could barely look them in the eye as I made my way from the restaurant and navigated my way back to our cabin which annoyingly was floors away, and by the time I reached it, I was out of breath and my legs were aching. I flung the door open and there he was sitting upright on the bed, his face covered by his hands.

“Monty?” I said gently.

He flinched, obviously having not heard me enter.

“Leave me alone,” came his muffled reply.

“Look, I know you felt out of your depth back there. That’s what bothered you, wasn’t it?”

He pulled his hands away from his face and scowled at me. He folded his arms. “Wrong as usual.”

I knelt down beside him so we were staring into each other’s eyes. “No, not wrong. I can read you like a book. You felt left out, thought they’d think you were an idiot, like some fool with an inheritance who can’t even be bothered to learn his own business. They held a mirror up to you and you didn’t like the reflection.”

“Oh, you’re Sigmund Freud now!”

“Who?” I tapped him playfully. “I’m just someone who’s lived with you long enough to know how you tick.”

“Well, I don’t want to jolly well talk about it.”

“Well, you jolly well are going to!”

He stood up, his eyes flashing with irritation. “How dare you mock me in such a fashion!”

I rose to his level and ran my tense fingers through my hair, moving strands in the process onto my face. “I was joking. You can’t take a bit of teasing, can you? You need to relax, mate.”

“No, I can’t take a joke, because I am the joke, don’t you see? I’m trying here. I’m always trying but I’m never succeeding. I’m never getting better.”

“If you can’t see your own success then you really are stupid.”

“I can have you sacked; you know?”

“No, you can’t!” I softened in my tone then. “Look, I get it. It’s harder for you than I thought. I admit, I misjudged you. I tell you it here now truthfully, hand on my heart, under oath and all that. When I arrived at Linksfield, I thought you were a snobby, pretentious, horrible old drunk. But you’re not any of those things.”

“But that doesn’t change how I am, a failure.”

“You’re only a failure to you, you idiot. And there lies the problem. You know when I first met you, I thought it was arrogance but now I see wholeheartedly it was just sadness. Look, why don’t you read one of my poems, just this once? It’s about you after all.”

He wiped his teary eyes. “About me, Jack?”

“I was wrong about you and you’re wrong about yourself.”

He laughed through a sob and a deep breath. “I was mistaken on you at first too. I thought you were trouble.”

“Well…I am.”

He laughed again, wiping his nose with a handkerchief. “Well then, let’s see this poem.”

I watched intently as he unfolded the crumpled paper ever so delicately and held it under the light. His pale green eyes moved back and forth as they took in the words. He was one of those fellas who took a long time to read, not through lack of education or difficulty in the meanings but through clearly taking his time, needing to digest and savour every written word. Not that my words were anything special but Monty wanted to take in each line, each rhyme, each syllable. His face held no expression for the few moments and he didn’t say anything, instead forcing me to wait several agonising minutes for inevitable critique.

Then he simply folded the paper, still uttering not a word and handed it back to me. 

“Well, put a man out of his misery, can’t you?” I said, breathless and irritated, punching my hands together.

“No need for any misery, it’s quite remarkable Jack.”

“Remarkable in a good way or bad?”

“It’s wonderful.”

“You’re having me on?”

“I’m doing nothing of the sort. I say it with utmost sincerity and believe me I’d tell you if it was abysmal. Honestly, I think you’ve shared your soul on this one, straight to the heart. It’s about me when you thought I was dying, isn’t it?”

“Bloody hell, you got that from some cryptic scribbles?”

“I’m perceptive and a fine connoisseur of poetry and analysis and such. This really shows how you felt that night, how life is fleeting and fragile. I’ve seen through your bravado with this poem, Jack.”

I could barely look at him. “Well un-see through it, that’s terrifying.”

“But you should be pleased of your achievement.”

“Bloody hell, I don’t think I can’t take those kinds of compliments. Go on, tell me it’s rubbish now. I’m used to that. Punch me in the jaw, some pain to follow the praise.”

“Don’t be silly. Go on then, Wordsworth, fetch me some tea. You may be a promising poet but you’re still first and foremost my manservant. Milky as possible.”

“One day I’ll convert you to the strong stuff!”

“Don’t push your luck and bring the biscuits.”

“Biscuits after that big meal, are you mad? I’ll throw up again.”

“Who says you get to have any? I never had the chance to finish my dessert. I’m ashamed to say I ran out of there quite rudely.”

“Don’t worry I covered for you. As I always do.”

He hit me with his pillow. “Go to work, Jack, you’ve been idling too much on this voyage.”

“I’ve had my head in the tin bucket! I bet Angelica don’t talk to Millie like this.”

“I bet Millie doesn’t answer back.”

I grinned and headed off to fetch his precious tea and biscuits but I was strangely full of cheer, no longer feeling a nausea in my stomach or a bad omen that the trip was doomed but excited that Monty felt I had talent, that my words meant something— that I wasn’t merely a servant to him but an equal, a friend, a man with something to contribute other than cleaning and cooking and serving. I had words of my own and expression and I could put onto paper all that I could never say out loud. If I wanted to tell Monty something deep, I could express it through a poem. We knew everything about each other now, secrets and all. They’d all been revealed at last. Could it be true I had the friendship I’d been searching for, found someone who understood me more than anyone else in the whole wide world?

…

The next evening, the full moon graced the dark sky and we stood on the deck watching the twinkling stars that sparkled over the water. Once, I’d been in prison, staring out of bars that kept me away from the world. Then I had been at Linksfield, staring out of windows to the streets outside— and now here I was, under that night sky, like a bird on a voyage to another land— no longer caged but free to fly. 

At that moment as I contemplated my life’s journey, Herbert called us to join him inside.

“There’s some sort of dance commencing in there!”

“Ah!” I said to Monty. “You coming in to find a partner? We can find some before the good ones are taken.”

He looked me up and down. “You know how to dance?”

I wasn’t sure whether I was offended or not. “I’ll have you know, I’m not too bad. Doris used to teach me. We used to glide around the kitchen before Mrs. Orwell scolded us for knocking into the sideboard! And I know you can dance. I’ve seen you on those odd occasions when you bothered to go to a do, and I spied on you!”

“I like to dance, but I find it so awkward.”

It was at that moment; Millie appeared and grabbed my hand. “Come on, Jack, dance with me? Angelica’s commandeered Herbert and I need a strong man. I couldn’t find anyone else, so you’ll do!” She began to laugh.

I must admit I found it rather impressive that she was so forward.

“Cheeky!” I said and I barely had to chance to apologise to Monty as I was yanked from that calm, quiet deck of the ship, down a flight of steps to an elaborate ballroom that belonged more in some country estate than on a boat. I’d never seen anything like it in all my life and in truth I felt and looked a little out of place the way Monty had in ‘The Brothers in Arms’ pub those many months ago. 

Millie had quite the grip on my arm for such a petite woman and it was in the middle of the ballroom floor that we met Hebert and Angelica who were already waltzing in the other direction before we bumped into each other quite literally.

“Hope you’re behaving,” I said to Herbert over the noise of the live band. “He’s married you know?” I reminded Angelica.

She guffawed. “As if I care about such things!”

“I do! I’m quite happily married,” Herbert said, holding up his ring finger. “And I’m not my cheating father!”

That was the first I’d heard of Herbert’s feelings towards the lies of his natural father. He’d always been so complimentary of him but like Monty there was a lot to feel angry about.

“Oh, a scandal!” Angelica said.

“We’ve had enough scandal to last a life,” I said.

“Anyone who’s anyone has a scandal,” Angelica said as she and Millie smiled at one another, ditched us and began to instead have a fast dance with each other as a jazz quartet took over and the rhythm changed drastically. 

Herbert and I took the opportunity to get some drinks and sit at one of the tables. I looked around to see if Monty had followed us down below deck but couldn’t spot him so sat with Herbie and had a chin-wag.

He laughed at my jokes, even the bad ones and then he told me about the apartment we would be staying in. By the time I did spot Monty, he was lurking in the entrance, looking at us, staring vacantly as though it were a mine-field in that ballroom and he couldn’t quite reach us across enemy territory.

I saw him leave as soon as he’d entered so I turned to Herbert. “I think I better check on your brother.”

“Is he alright?”

“Shy, I guess. Why don’t you get us all another drink, I’ll try and convince him to join us?”

“Good luck.”

Monty was out on the deck when I found him, staring over the railing to the dark fathomless ocean below. I approached him cautiously. 

“You alright?”

I tried not to look too deeply at the rhythm of the waves in case my seasickness returned in full force. 

“You coming inside?” I said after he ignored my first question.

“I’d probably just ruin your fun.”

“Why?”

“You were all having such a good time without me.”

“So, you think we should all be miserable until you arrive?”

He huffed. “No, simply that you didn’t even seem to notice I wasn’t there.”

“Oh leave off!” I could feel my body becoming tight. Sometimes he said the most ridiculous things.

He leaned over the edge for a moment. “These waves are so hypnotic.” He paused for a moment. “I wonder what it’d be like to gently slip under them and let them take me away, consume me in the blue.”

“Shut up would ya!” I was getting angry.

“I can do that if you wish. I can shut-up forever.” He took a deep breath and before I even had time to realise it, he was climbing onto the first railing.

“What do you think you’re doing?” I grabbed his arm tightly.

“It’s best really. Best for everyone. Best for Herbert and for you.” He was talking in a slow, hypnotic monotone, almost as if in a trance with a sea siren beckoning him under.

“Don’t you dare tell me what’s best for me!”

“Don’t try and stop me, Jack.”

I let go of him, red-faced and furious. I paced back and forth up and down the deck nearby. “If you jump, I’ll jump right in behind you, have you got that? I’ll follow you under those waves.”

He stood there motionless for several moments, clinging onto the sides. I noticed he wasn’t in a particular rush to jump. He didn’t really want too— he just wanted the attention.

“Life’s too hard. And I don’t want you to follow me.”

I lightly held onto his arm, more tenderly this time. “If you go, how are we going to have any Jack and Monty adventures, eh?”

He turned back to face me, a brief smile appearing on his face before his lips trembled. “You want more of those?”

“I do. And I can’t have them if you throw yourself into the sea like some madman and I have to jump in to rescue you but instead we’re both swallowed by the waves and poor Herbert has more to deal with. He finds a brother only to lose him soon after.”

He wiped away a tear that rolled down his pale cheek. “If only life was like that in-between place you used to talk about.”

“We can make this life like that. How d’ya think I got through prison? We can live how we like, do what we like, don’t you see? None of that matters now. You loved your mother but now she’s gone you don’t have to answer to anyone, you’re the master of yourself and can make your own decisions.”

“You’re right of course.”

“Bloody hell!” Suddenly the panicked voice of Herbert rang out from behind us on the deck. “Monty, what are you doing?”

“It’s alright, Herbert, it’s alright. I’m getting him down.” I said to him. I then clung tightly to Monty’s arm. “Monty, we can do whatever we like now. We can travel, we can see the world, we can stay at home and never attend society functions. It’s all up to you.”

Herbert approached with trepidation. “Monty, are you alright, what’s happening?” He grabbed his other arm. “If my coming into your life has caused this then I’m sorry I’ve made your life so upside down.”

“It wasn’t you, Hebert, it wasn’t anyone. It was me!” Monty cried. “Help me down, please, help me.” 

His whole body shook as Herbert and I helped him down from the rail. I breathed a sigh of relief when his feet were firmly on the ground. If he had slipped into that ocean, he’d have been lost to me forever.

“Shall we go back to your room?” Herbert said, placing his arm around his brother’s shoulder.

“I’ll take care of him,” I replied. “You have fun with Angelica and Millie and don’t let on to them what happened. Angelica loves a bit of gossip.”

“You sure he’ll be alright?” Herbert said before I pushed him away, reassuring him of Monty’s character.

“Yeah, he’ll be in New York meeting your family, enjoying the holiday, I promise you that.”

Herbert’s usual wide cheery smile was now replaced with a frown and he hurried off to the ballroom whilst I took Monty to his room, undressed him, put him into pyjamas and then sat him on the bed.

“You listen to me, Monty, you do what you like in life.”

“With each other?”

“Sure.”

“But you’ll love New York and Herbert’s factory and you’ll want to stay there with him and I can see it now.”

“Mind reader, are you, Mystic Monty? Listen to me. I also make my own decisions, always have done. You don’t own me, never have.”

“I don’t want to own you but I also don’t want you to leave me. That’s just the way I feel about it, selfish or not.”

“But that’s why you’re so stupid. Don’t you get it? I’m not going anywhere! You’re stuck with me. Even if I did leave your work, I’d still be seeing you all the time but I’ve no plans to leave. Linksfield’s my home, Monty. I want to return to that bloody old drafty house as much as you. Just because I love adventure doesn’t mean I think it shouldn’t end.”

“You really mean it? You want to go back with me?”

“You’re bloody stuck with me, mate, and I’m stuck with you.”

I was about to leave him to some rest when he called back to me. I approached him and sat at the end of his bed.

“What is it?” 

“Jack, I’ve been thinking,” he said as he cuddled his teddy-bear for comfort. At least I’d remembered the bear this time.

“Always worrying when you say that.”

“Thinking about what you said about the factory. You’re right.”

“A sentence I always like to hear.”

“No, I mean it. I want to get involved in father’s work. I want to be more like Herbert and that peppy American woman.”

I smiled. “Good but perhaps not entirely like that American woman because I kind of like you the way you are even if you drive me insane.”

“I want to try, Jack.”

“You tried to jump overboard a minute ago.”

He shook his head. “I know, I’m foolish. I can’t make out why I do these things.” He took my hand. “I’m sorry but I want to try something, a challenge even if I fail. Challenges keep us going, don’t they?”

“They do and I’ll be there to help whether it’s New York or home or at the factory. You’re not going to be alone. Even if I’m away or I fall off one of those sky scrapers, there are people who love you. You have Herbert now, you have Rosamund and one day I hope you can care about yourself a little too.” 

He smiled. “I hope so too.”

I suddenly felt embarrassed, my face feeling hot with expressing so much not in written words.

And with those spoken words, he went to sleep and slept until the next day. When he’d recovered from his nerves, Herbert and I convinced him to join us for dinner and dancing and we all danced and drank and chatted and enjoyed each other’s company for the last stretch of our trip. I had a few moments where I thought I was going to be sick again but all in all it was a great night. Monty wasn’t better yet, I doubted he ever would be, but he was trying and that meant the entire world to me.

The first thing we saw as the boat arrived in New York was the magnificent image of the Statue of Liberty looming over the city and sea in gigantic glorious green splendour. I’d never seen anything like it. My mouth no doubt hung-open like a goldfish. It was my first view of a different country that wasn’t filled with war and death. In fact, it was booming with life.

“What a sight,” Monty said, placing his arm around my shoulder. 

“Ready to go?” I said, glancing at him. 

“Jolly nervous.”

“I’m terrified. You know what’s worse?”

“What?”

“Having to get the boat back!”

We both laughed as Herbert appeared beside us and we all stood watching as the boat came to a stop.

“So, how do you feel?” Herbert asked Monty.

“I feel good. I also feel strange. Mother would’ve loved this. She was always pushing me to do things with her but I never did them. I feel terrible now.”

“She’d be pleased to see you out,” Herbert said. 

I linked my arms through both men’s. “So, let’s have a wonderful time in New York and after a great trip, Monty, when we finally get back to good old Linksfield, we’ll be so glad to see that place again that we won’t want to leave it for a good long while.”

Monty held up his stick. “To Linksfield on our return!”

“To Linksfield!”


End file.
